


Takedowns

by kalisgirl



Series: Red Cell Cycle [2]
Category: Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior
Genre: Case Fic, Community: casestory, F/M, Gen, Implied Torture, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 02:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalisgirl/pseuds/kalisgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Red Cell is against the clock in a hunt for both a killer and a victim who might still be alive. Anxiety and adrenaline, tension and release: just another day at work for the BAU’s quick response team.<br/>A casefic with bits of pre-ship tension slipping in around the edges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Takedowns

**Author's Note:**

> Takedowns was written as part of the Casestory Big Bang. It follows on my story [Endgame](%E2%80%9D) – a resolution for the finale. You don’t have to read that first, all you need to know is that Beth survives being held hostage thanks to her quick mind and Mick’s sniper rifle.
> 
> This story would be half as long and a quarter as good if I hadn’t been blessed with the help of [ardatli](http://ardatli.livejournal.com/) who volunteered to beta-read, and then learned the entire canon, guided me through many drafts, and gave so much useful advice and encouragement. A thousand thanks for all your help.  
> I am thrilled because this story is illustrated with lovely artwork by [PeR](http://pe1804.livejournal.com/25403.html#cutid1). The pieces you’ll see in the story really capture the core characters so well. They’re just wonderful, so enjoy.
> 
> I do not own Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior or its characters – those belong to CBS. I am merely playing and will put them back when I’m done.

  


* * *

The afternoon sun burns his eyes. He squints against the glare, barely able to bring the forest into focus. The stabbing agony in his leg seems to be fading to an ache. He isn’t sure if that’s good or bad, but it does mean he can drag himself across the ground without crying.

Now the biggest pain in his body is in his gut. He’s tried eating leaves from low bushes, but he is so thirsty his tongue feels swollen. If it gets any worse, he knows he’s going to try any berries he can find. Dying from poison seems less awful than dying of thirst.

The sun is high. He’s lost track of which direction he came from. Not that it matters. He doesn’t know which way town is anyway. His only hope is finding a trail that people are going to be on this time of year. And not dying before someone decides to use it.

 

* * *

**Day One – 7:00 pm**

All the air slammed out of Mick's lungs as he hit the mat. Coop grinned down at him as he gasped for breath.

"You look a little like a fish flopping on the shore," the big man observed, clearly unrepentant about his part in Mick's current distress.

Mick waved his hand in what he hoped would be understood as an insult, not just random flailing. From Prophet's snort, it seemed the point was made.

The gym was quiet for a Thursday evening. The team were the only people in the place, and the noises of the city outside seemed muted in the November twilight. Coop and Mick had been working takedowns, classic grappling and throws, to take the edge off the usual ‘stand-by mode' tension. They were two days into an on-duty period and the lack of action was making everyone a little antsy. No work could be good, a sign that no one was getting harmed in horrible BAU-related ways. Or it could mean that some sicko was getting away with murder, or worse, because a police department wasn't putting the pieces together or was refusing to admit that it needed help. Mick's opinion of humankind wasn't high enough to believe that there weren't cases out there that needed the team's help, so waiting for the locals to get their thumbs out made him a little mental.

"Stop growling and get moving." Coop's gentle mocking interrupted Mick's thoughts. The profiler's eyes showed understanding. Even if Coop had more faith in humanity - or something - it didn't mean he didn't feel the need to be out helping people. The older man held out his hand and hauled Mick to his feet. "Time for one more round, and then we've got files to clear."

Mick's groans as he dropped into fighting stance were echoed by Prophet and Gina. No one liked clearing files: reports, reviews, endless bureaucratic time-wasting that made the end of any case an exercise in numbness. Well, no one but Beth. Her argument was that every case reviewed and filed informed the team's understanding of behavior. Which was true, Mick supposed, but it was as though the Bureau had taken a useful exercise and twisted it into the least fun way to learn known to man. He liked to put it off as long as possible, unlike Coop and Beth.

Mick glanced up at the office over Coop's shoulder. Yeah, there she was, probably clearing files like it was her life's purpose. He wondered at her sometimes, hiding up in that room. Beth had always spent more time in the office than the rest of them, but Mick had noticed that it had become more extreme since the case when she was taken hostage. Now she rarely ever came down to the gym to work out with the team. It wasn't like she didn't work out anymore; she was still trim and Mick had seen her hold her own in a few footraces and fights with suspects. For a tiny person, she had some hustle.

Beth hadn't changed physically since the experience with Rawlins, but that wasn't the point. The workouts in the gym weren't just about fitness, or fighting. they were about team dynamic, like right now. Coop was sparring with Mick, teaching him but also treating him as an equal. It was the same relationship they took out into the field. And on the other set of mats, Prophet and Gina worked together on the hand pads. He was encouraging her, building her confidence and strength while she steadied him, giving him a sense of purpose and affirming his value to the team. Their bickering banter might sound snippy and rude to an outsider, but Mick could see the affection between them, the teasing.

And the surprising heat in their eyes. Momentarily distracted by the sight, he dropped his front guard. Coop swept in and slammed him into the mats. Mick rolled to sitting position and spent a few moments gasping for breath as his mind processed what he'd just seen.

Coop nudged his shoulder and passed him a water bottle. He nodded at the couple on the other side of the gym, smiling.

"I was wondering when you'd notice," Coop said. "Been building for weeks now, since…" Mick nodded. "… and I think they're sorting out nicely." He looked Mick in the eyes. "Not going to cause problems, is it?"

Mick shook his head as he swallowed some water. It wasn't a problem for him. He'd never really had a serious thing for Gina - she'd made it clear that she didn't have time for flings and Mick was always honest about his distrust of words like ‘settled,' ‘stable,' and ‘long-term.' Prophet could give Gina all those things, and while the man came with a lot of history, he had nothing on Mick's shipping container's worth of past sins, emotional hang-ups, and psychological damage.

"I think it's great" he assured Coop. "And I won't tell a soul. It is against some sort of rule or regulation, yeah?"

Coop grinned. "But we play by our own rules in the Red Cells. Inter-agent relationships are just one of those things that the Bureau ignores if that's what it takes to get the job done. Just so you know."

"I'll keep that in mind," Mick told him with a laugh, "for the next time they send the lovely Agent Prentiss our way."

Coop grimaced slightly as he turned to collect his towels and pads. "Perhaps you should consider a less prickly young lady. Unless, of course, you like that take-charge, take no prisoners attitude."

As strange as it was to talk women with Coop of all people, Mick couldn't resist saying "A girl's gotta be fierce to keep up with me."

"Well that explains why none of them last long," Gina's voice came from across the gym. "You date women who let you feel strong and in control, when what you really want is someone who's fierce, a challenge, who keeps you on your toes. Men like you are so predictable."

"Which is why you wouldn't date me?"

She grinned at him as she slammed her fists into the sparring pads. "No, I wouldn't date you because I prefer to avoid immature, emotionally distant control freaks. Even if they have bedroom eyes and sexy accents."

Mick smiled at her has he stood up. "I think I've just been insulted. I'll let it pass this once to show that I can be mature. And because your boyfriend looks like he's going to punch me in one of my bedroom eyes."

At that, Prophet and Gina stopped all pretense of sparring and stared at him. Then, almost in unison, they turned to Coop, worry clear in their faces. The team leader gazed at them for several long moments. Gina and Prophet shifted slightly, their hands brushing. At that, Coop smiled.

"It's alright. I'm happy for you."

It was almost like a benediction, Mick thought, watching Gina and Prophet nod their heads in response to Coop's words. The couple shook off their pads and clasped hands, and then stepped forward to speak in overlapping sentences. Mick had a feeling that the degree of sappiness in the room was about to explode, so he beat a hasty retreat to the office.

 

When Mick entered the office, Beth didn't bother to look up from the field agent’s report she was reading as she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Oh God. What is it about men like you that lets you believe that other people find your sweat acceptable? Go shower before the whole office reeks like a locker room."

"Lovely to see you today, Miss Beth," Mick smiled. "Apologies for imposing my fragrant self on you. I had to escape the love-fest in the gym, and this was the nearest safe haven."

Beth looked up at that. "Love-fest?" she asked, confusion creasing her forehead. Then her face changed to a look of distaste. "Is this some innuendo about you all getting hot and sweaty together? Because I don't want to know about it."

"We've noticed." Mick said. "You're not exactly a ‘plays well with others' kind of girl these days."

She sucked in a quick breath at that. Beth had worried that she'd been isolating herself in the aftermath of being taken hostage, but if Mick was commenting on her withdrawal, it was worse than she'd thought.

"I'm not any kind of girl, Rawson," she glared at him to hide her confusion. "And if you think that getting red-faced and smelly while rolling around on the floor with you is what makes us a good team, you're delusional." Not to mention that she had no interest in grappling - it reminded her too much of being wrapped in the arms of a dead man.

"Oh, I beg to differ," Mick sing-songed as he perched himself on the corner of her desk. She rolled up the report and poked him in the side to dislodge him. He grinned and wandered back to the doorway. "It seems to have worked for Gina and Prophet."

"What?"

"Yeah, just look at them," Mick nodded his head towards the window. Beth rose from her chair and joined him. She looked down and saw her two teammates standing by one of the punching bags. Prophet was reaching out a hand to push Gina's hair back as she smiled up at him. Beth couldn't help but let out a snort of satisfaction.

"Glad that's settled then," she said curtly, turning back to her desk. She could feel Mick staring at her as she settled into her chair.

"Settled?" he asked, dragging one of the conference table chairs over to sit in front of her. "You mean you knew? Was I the only one who didn't know?"

"Sad day when you can't profile your closest co-workers," Beth teased. "But no, I didn't exactly know. I mean, I knew Gina had a bit of a crush on him, but I got the sense that she thought it was hopeless. She thought he was too good for her."

"Too good?" Mick gaped at her. "He's an ex-con. A killer."

Pot calling the kettle black, Beth thought, although she knew that Mick tended to think of his kills as a sniper as clinically as possible. Intellectually, he knew he had killed people, but he refused to engage with it emotionally. In the past, she'd found that detachment incomprehensible. Now that she had taken a life to save Mick's and he'd killed to save her, she wished she could find that emotional distance for herself.

"Prophet is a deeply moral man," Beth explained, "while Gina's done a bit of rebelling against that rigid upbringing of hers. Just read her file."

Mick propped his elbows on her desk and leaned forward, ignoring her grimace as he squashed paperwork and invaded her personal space.

"Read her file? I can't do that, you know. And I didn't know that you could either. Isn't that an invasion of the privacy that you Yanks are so fond of?"

Beth considered whacking him in the face with her report, but rose above the urge. "I'm second in command here, so I was read in on all of your files. And I could have accessed them anyway - I still have a few contacts here and there. I don't see what you're so worried about, coming from a country famous for its extraordinarily comprehensive surveillance." Mick smirked and shrugged, clearly not bothered by the idea. "Besides, I only read your work histories. I don't need to know about your personal background, and I let Coop deal with what's going on in that sweaty head of yours. Which is still stinking up the office, by the way. Go have a shower."

Mick grinned at her in surrender as she pointed at the door. He hopped up from the chair and backed out of the office.

"Alright, I'm gone. But if I get caught up in all that romance out there, it's your fault." Beth rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "I might end up under your window, serenading you with sweet melodies," he threatened.

Beth snorted. "If you serenade me, prepare to have the plant you bought me dropped on your head - pot and all. No one would blame me, tone deaf as you are."

With that final insult, she turned in her chair and picked up her report. She couldn't help but smile a little at the mental image of him standing under her window, hand on heart. Not that Mick Rawson would do a thing like that, or that she would want him to. Beth knew she wasn't the romance type. She wasn't as bad as Mick, but she kept an emotional distance from her sexual partners. It seemed to make sense when her job was so incomprehensible to so many people, and when it took up so much of her emotional bandwidth.

Her latest relationship had ended not long before the Rawlins/Stahl case, and since then she'd avoided even the pretence of emotional involvement. She'd had a few purely sexual encounters, fueled by a need to feel alive, but even those had involved more vulnerability than she was comfortable with. But the thought of an attractive man professing his affection in a classic manner made something twist in her chest. It was ridiculous, though, unrealistic. Beth knew herself well enough to know that she wasn't the type to inspire such clichéd gestures. It was seeing Gina and Prophet together that had put bizarre notions in her head. She was better off focusing on her reading.

* * *

**Day One – 11:40 pm**

Just over an hour ago, not long after Mick had attempted to re-enact the _Romeo and Juliet_ balcony scene under the windows by Beth's desk (she had rewarded him with a shower of file folders crashing onto his head), the team had been notified of a case in progress in Collinsburg, Kentucky.

Beth and Gina had loaded all the available files onto the team’s tablets while Mick and Prophet packed the rest of the gear. Within forty-five minutes, the team was boarding the plane. Once they’d settled in, Coop began to take them through the case.

“We’re looking at an active kidnapping that will end with death if we don’t figure out this unsub.”

“Do we know how long we’ve got?” Prophet asked. He was sitting beside Gina, across the table from Mick.

“No. It’s been over twenty-four hours since our victim was last seen, when he checked out of his campsite.” Coop paced the aisle beside their table. “But we don’t have a precise idea of how long the previous victims were kept alive after their abductions – given the state of the remains and vegetation trapped beneath the bones, it could be a little as a few hours, or up to four months.”

“Do we start with the current victim or with the previous ones?” Gina’s hand hovered over the case file icons on her tablet.

“Patterns are what’s going to help us on this one,” Coop said. “Let’s look at the history.”

Mick picked up his tablet and started to flip through files. Coop pulled folders from the banker’s boxes he had brought on board and was sorting them into piles. Paper files began to stack up on the table while the team read from their tablets in silence. Mick noticed that he had the fewest files, while the tallest pile ended up in front of Beth – Coop had a good sense of who liked paperwork and who didn’t.

“So I’m seeing three victim files, two dead, one missing,” Beth observed after about twenty minutes. “As far as we know, this started two years ago?”

“Exactly,” Coop said. “Two years ago, Travis Martin, twenty-three, stopped in Collinsburg as part of a hiking vacation. He stayed for three days, walking the trails. But he never made it to his next motel reservation in Appalachia. His parents got concerned when he didn’t call them like he’d promised, so they called the police in Virginia.”

“The last charge on his credit card was the motel in Kentucky, two days before he was supposed to be in Virginia.” Mick read from the case file he’d been studying. “His car never showed up on anyone’s database. Doesn’t look like the Virginia or Kentucky state police made much progress with the case.”

“Which brings us to last year,” Coop said. “Dennis Chapel, twenty-two. He was backpacking down from Vermont, hitch-hiking. He stopped in Collinsburg, worked at a hunting lodge cleaning their ATVs and other equipment in exchange for a week’s stay. He said he was moving on to Tennessee, planning to meet friends in Knoxville.”

“Looks like the friends didn’t think much of it at first, but after he was a few days late they contacted his folks.” Prophet looked up from the notes he was reading. “They used his social media history to track his activities back to Kentucky. Smart. His last tweet was the afternoon he was leaving Collinsburg.”

“And it looks like the longest he could go without tweeting is less than an hour,” Beth observed. “Self-involved.”

“Judgmental,” Mick teased.

“What, you tell the cyberverse your every move?”

“Of course not.” The idea made him cringe, putting all his thoughts on display.

“It would destroy his mystique,” Gina laughed.

“No, it’s against regs. And I can’t see the appeal.”

“Well, let’s be glad that Dennis Chapel did,” Coop interrupted them with a faint smile. “Once his parents and friends figured out where he was last seen, they reached out to the Collinsburg and state police.”

“Who had a month-old trail so cold it was icy.” Prophet dropped his tablet on the table. “It was too late to find anyone who might have picked up a hitch-hiker on a fairly busy road during the first rush of hunting season.”

Coop nodded as he picked up his tablet. “Which means that the case went cold for eight months. Until ten weeks ago, when a hiker’s dog uncovered partial human remains in the woods surrounding the town. Sheriff James had the dental x-rays tested against the missing persons database and they matched Chapel. I’ve got the crime scene photos here.”

He passed the tablet to Gina, who sat back in her seat as she took in the images. Prophet nudged her arm and she leaned towards him to share the photos.

“That’s why they searched the woods last month?” Beth held up her tablet to show a map of eastern Kentucky, two areas marked with multiple red dots.

“And found the rest of Chapel and Martin. What the animals had left, at least.” Gina grimaced as she passed the tablet with the crime scene photos to Beth. Mick crowded into Beth’s space for a better look and she rewarded him with an elbow to the ribs.

“There wasn’t much for the local police to work with.” Gina was right. The photos showed scattered human bones, shreds of fabric, and little else.

“Which brings us to this afternoon. A young man from Somerset, about twenty miles away, was reported missing.” Coop pulled a photograph of a smiling blond man from the folder on his lap. “Matthew House, twenty-three. He’s just finished school, has a job lined up that starts week after next, lives with his parents. He had taken a short trip to celebrate landing the job. A camping trip, not wilderness stuff, just a man, a tent and a bar-b-que, according to his parents.”

Gina picked up the story, referring to her notes. “He checked out of his campground yesterday. His parents were expecting him back today for lunch with relatives. When he didn’t arrive, they called the police.”

“That’s quick,” Beth observed. “A young man, late for lunch, and they call the police?” She absently shoved the tablet at Mick and turned her attention to her paper files. He set it aside and started sorting through his own files.

“Apparently his grandparents had come in from out of state,” Gina said, referring to her notes. “He hadn’t seen them since before his college graduation, so this was an important family celebration. They were afraid he’d been hurt in the woods or in a car accident.”

“But instead we get called in. That was fast,” Prophet’s voice was dry. “It’s not often we get to be on scene so early.”

“Turns out the local Sheriff had never really let go of the Chapel or Martin cases,” Coop explained. “Guess it ate at him. When Matthew was reported missing, Sheriff James did a little math and realized that it’s been twelve months since Chapel disappeared, twenty-four since Martin. A clear pattern. He knew he needed help, so he went right over the heads of the state police and called us in.”

“Bet that made him friends,” Prophet said with a smile. “But he made the right call. If we’re looking at the same unsub, he abducted Matthew even though the previous victims had just been found last month. He’s either very bold or so compulsive that even police attention can’t put him off his game.”

“It’s possible that the unsub doesn’t know that his victims are considered victims. This is hunting country, where accidents can mean death.” Beth shuffled through a stack of press reports. “In fact, this is the first week of deer hunting season, according to the Sheriff’s notes, same time frame as the other two disappearances. And this Sheriff James was smart enough to keep the names out of the local press. Said the search was for a missing hiker – which was technically true, I suppose. Nice.”

“Like the Sheriff’s style, huh Beth?” Mick teased.

“I admire a good misdirect,” she admitted with a grin.

The captain’s voice echoed through the cabin, announcing their descent.

“Alright people,” Coop said as he settled into a seat. “Local agents are going to drive us out to Collinsburg. Sleep in the car. We’ve got rooms booked, so you can get cleaned up, take a quick nap before we meet Sheriff James first thing. I want you at the top of your game as soon as it’s light. If there’s any possibility of finding Matthew alive, I plan to do it.”

* * *

**Day Two – 6:30 am**

The Deer Blind motel left a lot to be desired, Beth decided. After a restless nap in the Bureau SUV, she had stumbled into her motel room hoping for a couple hours’ sleep. Instead, she got a lumpy mattress, scratchy pillowcases, and blankets that smelled so strange she had stripped them from the bed. Still, years of erratic schedules allowed her to drop off fairly quickly. Visions of scattered bones and woodland trails haunted her dreams as her brain tried to process the case files she’d read. Her alarm woke her from a dream of being chased through a forest, her pursuer a faceless shape just out of view.

After a bracing shower and a high-protein, high-caffeine breakfast, she was ready to face what was sure to be a very long day. As team climbed into the waiting SUVs – Gina teasing Mick about his messy hair, Prophet talking quietly with Coop – Beth took a moment to look around.

Collinsburg sat in a beautiful valley surrounded by low, forested mountains. Tall hills, really. Leaves were beginning to turn on some trees, but it was still very green for this late in the year. The air was crisp, the pre-dawn chill not yet burned off by the sun. It was also quiet. Really, really quiet. Beth was a city girl, used to cars, sirens, street people, and all the other background sounds of her neighbourhood. Here the only sounds were birds calling for the sun to rise and the occasional car on the nearby highway.

The town was just as silent. As they drove down the main street, Beth saw the usual small town businesses – grocer, hardware store, realtor, bank, pharmacy – but very little in the way of social businesses. There was a barbershop and a hair salon, but only one restaurant, Nellie’s Diner.

“Not the most happening town,” Mick leaned into Beth to catch a view of her side of the deserted main street through the SUV’s window.

“Not so much,” she agreed.

“What do you want to bet that everyone leaves the second they turn eighteen?” he asked.

“No bet,” Beth shook her head. “It explains why the hunting lodge took on a random backpacker in exchange for a week’s work, though.”

“Good point,” Mick nodded, his face thoughtful. “And our victims were travelers. I wonder… Bloody Hell, is that the police station?”

Beth, turned around by the sudden change of topic, took a moment before she followed his gaze. When she caught sight of the building, she couldn’t help but laugh. Not only did the building look like it had been lifted out of a fifties movie, the police officer who stood by the front door was almost a caricature. Tall, blond, baby-faced, and earnest-looking, the man bounded down the steps of his building with far too much enthusiasm given the hour.

“Special Agent Cooper?” He asked, almost pulling Coop out of the vehicle with his energetic handshake.

“That’s right.” Coop steadied himself against the SUV as he pulled his hand free. “You must be Sheriff James.”

“Yessir, Elmore James. Just started in the job last year, after Rudy retired,” the Sheriff eyed the rest of the team as they assembled around Coop. “I’m so grateful that you all have come down to help. This one’s got me real worried.”

“My team and I are glad to be here,” Coop said soothingly. “Do you have a space for us to work from?”

“Oh, yessir. We cleared out the conference room for you.” Sheriff James turned and took the steps two at a time. “It’s not very big – there’s only four of us plus Luanne in the office – so I hope it works.”

As James led the team into the quaint building, Beth noticed that the words _Police Station_ were carved in the lintel above the main doors. When she glanced away, biting her lip to hide a smile, she caught Mick’s eyes. His lips were compressed as he masked his own amusement. His left eyebrow quirked up and Beth had to look away to keep from grinning outright.

Coop’s voice pulled Beth from her thoughts. “Let me introduce my team.” The four lined up in the hall, falling into formation by instinct. “These are Agents LaSalle, Sims, Rawson, and Griffiths. We’re here to help you bring Matthew House home, and if we catch his kidnapper, even better.”

“How do we help?” asked the Sheriff as he led them into the conference room.

“I need everything you’ve got on the three victims’ personal histories” Gina said, setting down her bags. “We need complete profiles of each of them in order to find any common elements.”

“And I need as much detail as possible on the local community. Not just numbers,” Prophet explained. “I need to know who stands out, who blends in, who talks, who watches. This is a small town. There will be people who can help me track our victims’ activities.”

Beth placed her heavy bags at the head of the table. “Which is where I come in. I need the victims’ spending history, any information on the places they ate, drank, shopped, slept. I need to build a full history so that we can see where they went and who they met.”

Sheriff James looked a little overwhelmed.

“Don’t worry, man, you can do it,” Mick said, clapping his hand on the taller man’s back. “Let me introduce you to the smartest woman this side of the Atlantic. Her name’s Penelope and she will blow your mind.”

Mick and Coop steered the Sheriff out of the room, leaving the rest of the team to unpack their gear. Beth dragged her bags to the head of the table and scoped out the available outlets. There weren’t many, so the first thing she pulled out was a power bar. Into it she plugged her laptop, the chargers for her phone and tablet, her external hard drive, and the special speaker phone Garcia had built for the team.

A pair of officers wrestled a whiteboard into the room. Gina directed them to place it along the wall to Beth’s right. Once it was positioned to Gina’s liking, she and Prophet began to fill the board with victim information. Beth listened absently to their conversation as she tunneled into the FBI’s network through her dedicated connection.

“Look at them,” Gina said, tapping the victims’ photographs. “Blond, light brown, dark blond. Fair, fair, fair. Strong features across the board. Definite victim profile.”

“No kidding,” was Prophet’s response. “According to this, their heights and builds are similar, too. How big do we figure the victim pool is, for the unsub to find three similar looking men in the right time period?”

Gina pulled out her tablet and tapped for a few moments. Prophet took the time to add materials to the board.

“According to the town’s website, thousands of hunters, hikers, and campers come through,” Gina said eventually. “The hunting lodges and campsites are the reason the town still exists. And this is one of the busiest times in the year – it’s deer season, the leaves are turning, the weather’s cold but still okay for camping.”

“Which means that this is the time of year when our unsub has the best chance of finding a victim who suits the profile,” Prophet nodded. “So does that mean that the timing of the abductions is convenience? Or does November have special meaning to him as well?”

“Until we have a better idea of how ritualistic the abductions and deaths were, we can’t rule out the possibility of the timing being significant,” Gina pointed out. “Let’s see what the body dump sites tell us. Who was found where?”

“The first victim, Travis, was found here,” Prophet placed a sticker on the county map he’d posted. “At least, most of him. He was identified by matching dental records to the intact upper jaw. Lower jaw wasn’t there. There were enough bones – mostly long bones and vertebrae – to imply that his body had been there for some time. Animals or weather took care of most of the ribs and other smaller bones.”

“Looks like they did a number on the long bones, too,” Gina noted. “The femur and tibia here are in rough shape.” She picked up a folder and flipped through pages. “Okay, says here that most of the damage is animals, but there’s some sign of fractures in the other bones.”

“That’s probably why the animals went for those bones, but ignored the others,” Prophet said, reading the file over her shoulder “A really bad break could splinter into the skin. The exposed marrow would attract animals.”

Beth grimaced at his matter-of-fact explanation. She continued setting up their workspace, laying out files in a neat series of stacks on the filing cabinets along the wall. The industrial green of the cabinets dated from the same era as the ultra-bland beige paint on the walls. If the paint job hadn’t been so pristine, she would have thought the place hadn’t been touched since 1953.

“And I believe this means, lovely Penelope, you should have access to their files.” Mick’s voice preceded him into the room. “All working now, Miss G?”

There was a click and a crackle, and then Penelope Garcia’s voice filled the room. “… do. And thank you very much for these lovely presents. Almost makes up for the fact that you dragged me out of bed at six in the morning, Mick Rawson. Next time you wake me up so early, I expect you to do it in person.”

“Garcia, you’re on speaker,” Gina pointed out with a grin.

“I know that,” came the bright voice, completely unabashed. “I always assume that everyone in the room is hanging on my every brilliant word.”

Beth snorted. Garcia had no shortage of confidence. Of course, she had the talent to back it up.

“Are you connected to our machines, Garcia?” she asked, returning to her laptop.

“I am indeed. Whatcha looking for?”

“Every bit of electronic trail that our three victims left in the two weeks before they disappeared. Bank and credit cards, emails, social media.”

“Got it. You’ll have it hoot-suite.” There was an expectant silence, then Garcia said, “sorry, geek joke. Working now.”

There was a click as Garcia disconnected the call, and Mick leaned over to pull his cell phone from the speaker dock. Beth slipped the dedicated conference call phone into the slot instead.

“How are we doing on the victim profiles?” Coop asked, coming back into the room with the Sheriff on his heels.

“There’s a lot of commonalities in terms of physical appearance,” Prophet said. “That kind of similarity probably means the unsub is treating his victims as substitutes for an actual person.”

“And it’s likely that it doesn’t just stop at appearance,” Gina added. “We know that all three men were independent-minded. All three were active outdoorsmen willing to take the risk of hiking alone. Their families all use terms like ‘out-going’ and ‘extroverted’ and ‘social’ to describe the victims.”

“They would be a challenge to an unsub,” Prophet observed. “These are not men who would be easily victimized.”

“Maybe that’s why the unsub chose them,” Mick suggested, slipping into a chair across from the whiteboard. “To make victims out of men who are normally top of the food chain?”

“Could be,” Coop nodded. “Or it could be that he resents these men for their confidence, their appearance, their fitness.”

“He kidnapped these men because they’re blond and go hiking?” Sheriff James sank into a chair, an appalled look on his face. “You’re not serious?”

“I’m sure we’ll find that it’s more complicated than that,” Gina said, pulling out the chair next to Sheriff James and sitting down. “But it’s a place to start. Now, can you tell us what it was that caused these deaths to be classified as homicides?”

Sheriff James hmmm’d for a moment and then pulled two blue file folders from the pile in front of Gina.

“It was hard to say, at first. Look at the sites.” He gestured to the photos taped to the whiteboard. The initial images were of yellowed objects peeking out from beneath leaves; beside them were photos of dozens of bones and fragments identified with number markers.

“With the first skeleton, I had no idea what could've happened. All I knew was that he wasn’t local. We put the dental x-rays out to the state list of missing persons and Dennis’s name came back.”

“And that’s when you organized the search,” Prophet said, nodding.

“Well, the medical examiner told me that the skeleton wasn’t complete. I thought we owed it to the Chapels to make sure they brought all of Dennis home. I didn’t expect to find another set of bones.”

“Travis Martin.” Coop leaned towards Sheriff James. “You found him not far from Dennis Chapel.”

“Yes.”

“Another shallow grave?” he asked.

Sheriff James shrugged. “The crime scene people said that ‘graves’ was an exaggeration. They figured that the bodies were dropped into natural depressions and covered with a few inches of dirt and leaves.”

“So, locations of opportunity,” Beth said. The Sheriff shot her a startled look, as if he hadn’t noticed her sitting at the end of the table behind her laptop. She bit back a smirk and continued. “The unsub didn’t even bother to dig graves, just left the bodies. That shows a lack of connection to the victims that’s a bit unsettling.”

“We don’t know that, actually,” Mick turned to face Beth. She raised an eyebrow at him. “The bodies could have been posed, or treated with care. But there’s no way to see if there was anything ritualistic to the scenes. Animals and weather have made a mess of both sites.”

“I’m assuming that our unsub has some experience with outdoor living, given how far off the main trails the dump sites were,” Beth said in a cool voice. She saw Mick’s lips tighten, but his eyes twinkled. Intellectual sparring was so much more her style than getting sweaty in a gym. Mick knew it and he liked to push her.

“That means that the unsub would know a little bit about what weather and animals can do to a dead body,” Beth continued. “Burying the bodies would have showed respect or affection. Leaving them to the elements means he didn’t care or actively wanted the bodies desecrated.”

“I’ll grant you that,” Mick allowed. “But do we know if the dump sites are also the death sites? That would change the analysis.” He turned away from Beth to look at Sheriff James. The younger man shook his head.

“We’re not sure what the cause of death was. There’s too much damage to the bodies. It could have been bleeding from external or internal injuries, the trauma from broken bones, it could have been exposure. Heck, it could have been poison, for all we know.”

“And you’re sure that we’re not just dealing with a series of accidents and coincidences?” Prophet asked.

Sheriff James looked down at the table, red rising in his cheeks. For a moment, Beth wondered if the young man was embarrassed, but when he raised his head, she saw anger in his face.

“I may be a small-town lawman,” he said, his voice hard. “But I read a lot. And I’m not stupid. Three boys who look like kin going missing the same month three years running is no coincidence. I don’t know what killed them, but I know in my bones it weren’t natural.”

“I agree, Sheriff,” Coop’s calm voice cut through the tension in the room. “My team agrees. But our job is to ask questions – every question – until we find the answers. We all recognize that there’s a clear pattern in the victims. Now we need to see what it tells us about the unsub.”

The room was quiet for a moment while the Sheriff took in Coop’s words. Beth tapped a finger against the table, an idea teasing at her mind. She wasn’t certain if it would help, but it was a place to start. She pushed herself out of her chair and walked towards the whiteboard.

“If we can assume that our unsub is choosing his victims for what they have in common, what does that tell us about the abductions? About the killings, assuming they were killed?”

She let the question hang in the air for a few seconds before answering it.

“The unsub could have overpowered the victims, yes, but not in the middle of town. We haven’t found the first victim’s car, or Matthew House’s. So perhaps the unsub pretended he needed a lift and had them drive him to a location where he could overpower them.”

“What about the Dennis, the hitch-hiker? He didn’t have a car.” Gina asked.

Beth shrugged. She didn’t have an answer to that.

“Maybe the unsub picked Dennis up,” Prophet suggested. “It would have had the same result – isolation and control.”

Gina nodded. “So we’re looking at someone with access to a vehicle. And someone with enough social skills that three young men were willing to share a car ride with them.”

“Are we assuming that our unsub is capable of physically overpowering the victims?” Mick asked. “We have no idea if drugs were involved.”

“The unsub probably used a sedative, or he’d have injuries from fighting the victims. That would be noticed, around here,” Prophet answered. “What about the victims’ injuries? What do they tell us?”

Coop looked up from the file he’d been reading. “The second victim’s body showed less animal damage than the first. The medical examiner was able to learn more about what had happened to him.” He stood up and walked over to Beth, folder in hand.

“Here,” he said, handing her a stack of x-ray images. Beth flipped through the black and white photos, quickly reading the post-its stuck to them.

“We’ve got broken legs here,” she said, handing the pictures to Gina. “And a broken arm. But the notes say that all of the major breaks show signs of new bone growth. So Dennis would have been alive for at least a couple of days after his legs and arm were broken.”

Gina looked closely at the x-rays and then pulled out the medical examiner’s file on the first victim. She flipped through to the x-rays and ran her finger down the page of notes.

“It’s the same for Travis,” she exclaimed. “They couldn’t see it on the major breaks because of the animal damage, but these smaller fractures ‘showed initial signs of remodeling.’ We’ll have to have these checked to see how many days of healing, but this could be a pattern.”

Beth exchanged glances with Coop. On the one hand, this could mean that their current victim was still alive. On the other…

“These bones were violently smashed and allowed to partially heal. It could possibly mean torture.” Prophet was looking at Sheriff James as he spoke, his voice almost apologetic.

Beth winced at Sheriff James’s horrified expression, but she knew it was true. They might find Matthew House alive, but in what condition?

* * *

**Day Two – 10:00 am**

For some reason, a cruel trick of fate perhaps, the clock in the temporary command centre was an old fashioned monster with a second hand that ticked loudly as it moved around the dial. To Mick, it felt like the tick-tick-tick was counting down the remaining moments of their victim's life. It was not so slowly driving him insane. The other members of the team seemed oblivious to the doomsday device hanging on the wall above their profile board, but they were all caught up in the urgency of the case at hand.

"Here."

Mick looked up at the sound of Prophet's voice. The older man was handing Beth two file folders as he seated himself in one of the uncomfortable office chairs that surrounded the conference table that Beth had claimed as her desk. Mick had been banished to use the row of low filing cabinets as his work space as punishment for irritating Beth back at the home office. Gina grinned at him across the table as she sat down beside Prophet.

"It's everything we could find on the first two victims' movements. Credit and debit card activity, statements from a few people around town with good memories for faces."

"Didn't hurt that they were handsome faces," Gina added. "One chambermaid at the lodge where the second victim was working remembers that he asked about renting a cabin for the night – and hinted that she might join him there. Before they could finalize their plans, he was gone. She figured he'd taken off with some other girl."

"A Casanova." Beth shared a smile with Gina before they both glanced at Mick. He waggled his eyebrows at them in acknowledgment of the dig.

"Good to know, " Coop said. "Maybe Dennis caught the unsub's eye by flirting with him or her. Or by flirting with someone in a way that upset the unsub. We should find out if the first and third victims behaved in a similar manner."

"The burial sites could be an indicator of a female unsub - less difficult than digging a full sized hole for the body." Mick suggested.

"Sure," Beth agreed. "But how would she have got them to those sites in the middle of the woods? They’re miles from anything."

"Yes and no," Prophet said, drawing the phrase out in a way that grabbed everyone's attention. "Miles from town, but not from everything. There are hunting cabins - shacks really - scattered throughout that area. Some are mapped, but I'm willing to bet there are plenty that aren't. And the people that own those ones would only take cash."

"Which would explain why our guys dropped off the grid!" Beth said excitedly. Mick would have sworn it was the first time she’d smiled all day. "Get me the locations of the unregistered cabins and I'll be able to profile the dump sites."

Gina and Prophet left the room in search of local officers. Coop smiled down at the jazzed up woman at the computer.

"Good idea, Beth, but two points aren't really enough for a tight profile."

Beth stiffened, her smile fading. "I know,” she admitted. “But it's a start. Okay, the beginnings of a start.”

Mick felt a twinge of sympathy for her disappointment. It was their first real hope of a useful lead - they didn't have much else to work with.

“Except,” he heard himself say out loud. Beth and Coop turned to stare at Mick. Blinking at his unexpected blurting, he continued “except the victim’s geo-profiles. They weren’t locals and they weren’t around for long, yeah? They had to have had a line on these secret cabins from somewhere. If we go through their activity profiles, maybe we can find which cabin owners they interacted with…”

“And combine that list with the owners of cabins near the body dumps, we can find the common set of cabins.” Beth finished his thought, her dark eyes shining as they grinned at each other. It was a great feeling, knowing that they had a plan, one that had a decent chance of working.

After a moment, Mick realized he was still smiling at Beth. Feeling slightly awkward, he dropped his gaze to the files in her hand. “Want me to take one while you input the other?”

Beth fumbled slightly with the files as she nodded her agreement. There was colour on her cheek bones - excitement over the lead, Mick thought, feeling mirroring heat in his face.

He took one of the folders from her and glanced at Coop, who was making his way to the door while saying “I’m going to talk to the family of our current victim again, find out if he ever used off-the-books hunting cabins.” Coop was smiling as he looked from Mick to Beth and back. “You two let me know how you’re getting on. And tell the others to call when they get names for me to try out with the family.”

“You got it,” Beth said as the door closed behind Coop. “Damn, that man moves fast for someone so big.”

“You should try outmaneuvering him in the ring,” Mick said wryly.

“No, thank you. Unlike some idiots I could mention, I value my eyes, internal organs, and cervical vertebrae.” Beth responded sarcastically. “You gonna get working there? Because you know I’m going to be done first unless I give you a head start by getting us some coffee.”

She stood up and stretched her arms above her head, drawing her shirt tight in ways that Mick tried not to notice.

“I don’t need a head start,” he bragged, “but I will take milk and three sugars.” He turned to his file, trying to blink away the image of Beth’s shirt pulled snug over her previously invisible curves.

“God, three sugars?” She shuddered as she moved to the door. “You must have the stomach lining of a goat. And a metabolism like a blast furnace. If I drank my coffee like that…”

The rest of her diatribe was lost as the door closed behind her. Mick opened the file folder, pulled a map of the area towards him and lost himself in work.

* * *

**Day Two – 11:00 am**

The coffee in his mug was weak, oily, and disgusting. Mick could have ignored all that if it weren’t also cold. He almost spat out the sip he had just taken, but was stopped by the same good manners he’d spent so long teaching to Jenna.

As the clock ticked away the seconds, Mick reviewed the victim profile he’d been working on. Looking up at the noisy clock, he realized that almost half an hour had passed since Coop, Gina, and Prophet had left. His map of the second victim’s movements was complete and he was on the verge of announcing his victory to Beth when she slammed her hand on the table.

“That goddamn clock is going to drive me insane! If it doesn’t stop ticking soon, I’m going to shoot it.”

Mick laughed involuntarily. Beth was glaring at the clock as if she could silence it with the sheer power of her irritation.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he announced, standing and pulling his chair over to the wall clock. “I’ll disable this monstrous device if you admit that I finished my geo-profile faster than you did.”

Beth grabbed his map off the filing cabinet and glared at it while Mick climbed onto the wobbly office chair and eyed the clock. It appeared to be one with the wall. He pulled out his multi-tool and started probing the edges of the glass face.

“I will not admit that you finished faster” Mick stopped his investigations and quirked an eyebrow at the tiny woman standing by his chair. “Since I gave you a head start.”

“Oh, stuff your head start. All of two minutes. And I did my mapping by hand.” he pointed out, returning to the clock.

“You drew Xs on a map. I programmed mine into the computer,” she said without venom, returning to her computer with his map.

“Yeah, you programmed Xs on a map,” Mick pointed out as he pried the clock face free. “Come grab this.” He waved the glass disc in her direction.

Beth dropped his map on the table and walked over to take the object. ”God, that’s heavy,” she said, placing it gently on the filing cabinet beside the profile board. “That thing must be cold war technology.”

“Kind of fits with the rest of the town, doesn’t it?” Mick said, unscrewing the nut that held the hands to the clock on. “It’s like the land that time forgot here, with earnest LEOs and charming townsfolk.”

“Yeah, other than the serial killer, it’s fucking Mayberry,” Beth said sarcastically as she tapped away on the computer.

“Mayberry?” Mick asked as he pried the hands from the clock. Hour dropped to the floor, followed by minute, then, finally, second.

“Old TV show with earnest LEOs and charming townsfolk.” Beth glanced up. “Why is the clock naked?”

“The more important question,” Mick pointed out, “is ‘why is the naked clock still making that effing noise?’”

“It’s the internal mechanism, you idiot. The hands don’t really make much noise at all.”

“And I’m supposed to know this how?” Mick asked, as he tried to figure out how to remove the clock face. Ah, there. Tiny washers and hex nuts. A few twists and the metal face joined the hands on the floor.

“Mmmmm…” Beth’s version of an ‘ah-ha’ caught Mick’s ear. She was still typing, but her head was bobbing up and down the way it did when she’d made a breakthrough. Knowing she’d share only when she was completely sure of her results, Mick turned back to the clock. With the face off, he could see the power feeds and, more importantly, the source of the movement of the hands. Rather than poke at a live wire with an uninsulated tool, he grabbed the drive mechanism and snapped it loose. Blessed silence fell in the room.

Beth’s head immediately rose from her screen. She stared at Mick as he climbed down from the chair, mechanism held triumphantly in his pliers.

“Oh my god,” she said as he crossed to her. “You are possibly my favourite person in the whole world.”

Mick knelt before her chair and presented the drive to her in his best Sir Galahad pose. She held out her hands and smiled as he placed the drive in her hands. Of course, it was at this moment that Coop and the Sheriff walked through the door.

* * *

**Day Two – 11:45 am**

“So what was up with Mick?” Gina asked under her breath. She was leaning over Beth’s shoulder, supposedly examining the map on the laptop.

“How do you mean?” Beth said absently, tapping in coordinates. Gina and Prophet had returned with lists of unregistered hunting cabins to be entered into the geo-profile.

“Way I heard it, he was on his knees, proposal-style. What brought that on?” Gina’s voice was teasing, but Beth heard genuine interest. It made her fingers stumble over the keys.

“I make a point of _not_ trying to figure out that man. I don’t want to know what’s going on in that scruffy head of his.”

“Sure, Beth. Which is why you just placed that last cabin in the Carolinas.”

Beth cursed and pulled up the cabin’s entry to correct the coordinates. “Go away, Gina. Let me finish this.”

“Fine, but we’re finishing this conversation later.” Gina patted her on the shoulder as she straightened up and walked away.

Beth turned her entire focus to the mapping program and quickly finished the entries. A few more clicks and the profile was displayed on the screen. The pattern would have been obvious to a five-year-old.

“Coop,” she called. “I’ve got something.”

The team hurried over to huddle around the computer. The Sheriff crowded in with them, asking “what’s all that?”

“ ‘That’ is a map of all the significant locations in the activities of the past two victims, with an overlay of all the hunting cabins that we could find coordinates for.” Beth clicked on three points, then used the mouse to draw a circle encompassing them. “And this set of cabins is at the heart of it all.”

“Those are all right by Hart’s Bluff,” Sheriff James observed. “Pretty out of the way. Very rugged country. A lot of tourists get hurt at the Bluff. Maybe this has something to do with an out-of-towner.” There was hope in his tone that made Beth wince.

“These are the acts of a local resident, Sheriff,” Coop said in his deep, calm voice. “They required knowledge of the woods, of the cabins. There is a killer at work here, and he or she is a member of your community.”

Sheriff James rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “I just can’t believe that anyone in this town could do these things you’re talking about.”

Coop nodded slowly, and stepped around Beth to pull out a chair. “The patterns that we’re seeing are too strong for coincidence. The damage to the bodies is too consistent – the broken legs, the dozens of smaller bones showing fractures, the two or three days of healing.”

“But I know these folks,” the Sheriff protested. “I grew up alongside them. There isn’t one of them could do what you’re saying this person is doing.”

“I think we can assume that this unsub doesn’t draw attention to himself through his behaviour. It’s more common than you would think.”

Sheriff James sighed heavily as he sat in the chair next to Coop’s. “Then how are we going to find him?”

Coop looked up at Gina, who was standing at their victim board. She glanced at the board briefly and then sat beside Sheriff James.

“We’re looking for someone with a lot of aggression. The broken bones, the healing period, the isolation: all of these point to a drive to violence. But we have to balance that against the fact that our killer has the social skills to isolate the victims, meaning he doesn’t come across as a threat on short acquaintance.”

Prophet walked around the conference table to sit on Beth’s left. “We believe that this person is acting out his negative feelings towards young, fit, charming blond men over and over again. It’s probable that this is a conscious choice, a specific person that the unsub wants to punish, rather than an irrational urge. The regular intervals between the abductions, the isolated body sites, and the choice of unnoticed victims all indicate that the unsub is intelligent and organized, capable of planning and patience.”

Coop picked up the thread.

“We have to consider that with this unsub, death is not the final goal. Think about the injuries, the delay before death. It could be that killing these men is not the unsub’s motivation. He has a plan, a ritual perhaps, that has to be acted out. Death is a side-effect of whatever he’s doing to the victims.”

“Like torture,” Beth said, shaking her head. “In a remote hunting cabin in the woods. Horror movie in real life.”

“I think so, yes,” Coop agreed. He pushed himself up from his chair, and waited while everyone else did the same. “I think we can give you a rough profile now, Sheriff. Prophet?”

“We’re looking for a male, aged twenty-five to thirty-five. Given the demographics of this town, he’s white and employed in a job that puts him in contact with tourists on a regular basis.”

“He’s got a lot of experience with the woods,” Mick added. “As a hunter or a hiker, maybe even a guide.”

“And he’s someone that our out-of-town victims are going to talk to, probably even trust in their vehicles,” Gina put in. “He’s intelligent, social, unthreatening. If he’s taking the victims on without sedation, he’s going to be strong, physically fit. If he’s using drugs and restraints to subdue the victims, that’s not necessarily the case.”

“We can assume he’s driven by something very negative: anger, resentment,” Beth added. “He may have had a violent trauma involving a young man who looked like our victims. He may have acted out violently in the past, possibly in incidents involving blond men. And we should watch for something that happened a little over two years ago that tipped him into kidnapping and torture.”

“The most important thing we know, though, is that his victims don’t die right away,” Coop to a step towards the Sheriff. “Which means that Matthew may still be alive for us to find. He’s out there in those woods, and I think that Hart's Bluff may be an important part of this. Let’s track down the owners of those cabins.’’

* * *

**Day Two – 1:30 pm**

“They’re owned by a husband and wife,” Gina reported an hour later as she and Prophet walked into the conference room. “She rented a cabin to victim number one.”

“And her husband rented cabins to victims two and three,” Prophet continued, dropping into a chair. “But this is an under the table operation. They don’t keep very good records of who rents the cabins, so she didn’t even know it until we had her check with him. He’s out of town visiting a sister in hospital. He hadn’t heard about the search for the latest victim.”

“What do we know about them?” Coop asked.

Mick spoke from where he sat beside Beth, a folder in his hands. “Jim Sizemore, thirty two. He’s not local. He grew up in Charlotte, both parents and his sister still live there. He has trade training as a carpenter. Married Jane Andrews eight years ago. Moved here two years later to take over the wife’s family’s hardware store. He has a small side business in custom cabinetry. He’s went to Charlotte to see his sister hours after he rented the cabin to Matthew.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope. Doesn’t have a record – not even a traffic violation – or a firearm permit. Never owned a gun, at least not legally.”

“What about a hunting license?” Beth asked.

“Nah. Which makes him a weird one in this town,” Mick observed.

Sheriff James chuckled. “That’s right. Jim can’t look at a dead deer without gagging. Doesn’t say no to the venison once it's cooked, but he's a city boy when it came to dead animals.”

“So he probably doesn’t spend much time in the woods.”

“Not much,” the Sheriff agreed. “Jim’s a weekend hiker at best, needs one of those GPS things to stay on the trail.”

“Any chance he could be our unsub?” Coop asked.

Mick thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Unlikely. I don’t see it in his background and I can’t believe this unsub would kidnap a person and then leave town immediately. The timing’s all wrong.”

“Alright,” Coop said, “let’s put Jim aside for the moment. What can you tell me about Jane?”

Beth leaned forward in her chair and picked up her tablet. She felt the attention of the team focus on her.

“Jane Sizemore, nee Andrews, thirty. Born locally, both parents died in a car accident six years ago. One younger brother, Scott, twenty-seven. Went to school in Charlotte to get a diploma in business studies, met Jim and got married. Moved back to town when her parents died, to take over the hardware store. She also has a clean record, but she has a hunting license and owns two long-guns – a rifle and a shotgun.”

“That’s right,” Sheriff James chimed in. “Jane always bags the Christmas birds for her family and a few other folks. Never known her to take a deer though.”

“Any chance she could be our unsub?”

“Nothing in her history shows any violent behaviour,” Beth said after a moment. “I’ve got Garcia checking into the backgrounds more deeply just in case there’s anything else.”

“Anything from the interviews catch your attention?” Coop asked, turning to Gina and Prophet.

“No, nothing,” Prophet answered. “He’s still at his sister’s place, so I could only reach him by phone, but his voice didn’t have any unusual stressors – just surprise and shock. He did ask about his wife quite frequently. I’d need to see them together to judge if he’s the jealous type or just worried about her.”

“She was definitely worried, but I couldn’t read what it was about,” Gina picked up the story. “It wasn’t guilt, but I think it’s worth talking to her again, and seeing what Garcia digs up.”

“Let’s all go,” Coop suggested. “Get out of this office, get a feel for the town.”

“Maybe pick up some lunch while we’re at it,” Beth suggested, standing up and closing her laptop.

“And coffee,” Mick added in a low voice as they gathered their things. “The brew here could strip paint.”

Beth huffed a laugh. “How can you tell through all that sugar and creamer?”

“Why do you think I add it, yeah? Anything to make the caffeine drinkable.”

“Ah, addiction,” she teased.

“Everyone has to have one vice,” Mick protested as he shrugged into his coat.

“Somehow I doubt you stopped at one,” Beth shot back as she pulled her jacket on. Mick glared at her, but before he could respond, Coop cut them off.

“You two coming?” He was barely hiding a grin.

They exchanged guilty glances and followed him from the room.

* * *

**Day Two – 2:30 pm ******

After a quick lunch at the local family restaurant, the team made their way down the main street. Beth used the walk to take a reading on the character of the town. She noticed Prophet examining the various posters and signs along the street, and Mick appeared to be assessing the rooflines.

Gina confidently lead the way into Andrews Hardware and engaged the woman behind the counter in conversation. Beth held back a little, watching for physical cues. After an exchange of pleasantries, Gina started the interview.

“So you manage three cabins, is that right?”

“Yes.” Jane’s answer was reluctant, and Beth saw definite signs of nervous behaviour. “Are we in some kind of trouble?”

“Off-books hunting cabins aren’t our concern,” Gina said with a small smile. “We’re looking into those tourists who turned up dead in the woods near Hart’s Bluff.”

“I told you about them earlier,” Jane said. “I haven’t remembered anything since then. I’m sorry, but I have calls I need to make. Will this take long?”

“We know that they stayed in your cabins,” Beth interrupted, forcing Jane to look away from Gina. “We need to know everything you can tell us about their stay in the woods.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how I can help you.” Jane Andrews twisted her fingers together. “I only spoke to the one boy. It was two years ago.”

“To start with, can you tell me the details of the boys’ reservations. You arranged the first one, your husband the other two, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Jane said, nodding emphatically. She separated her hands and walked around the counter. She reached under and pulled out a spiral bound notebook. “I’ve got the dates right here.”

Beth and Gina leaned over the counter as Jane flipped through the book. The first page she turned to had Travis Martin’s name written in a loopy cursive with the notes ‘Cabin 2’ and ‘Thurs nite’ beside it. Gina pulled out her phone and snapped a quick picture. Jane then turned a few dozen pages to find a line with Dennis Chapel’s name, with ‘Cabin 1’ and ‘Friday night’ noted in a messy scrawl. Again, Gina took a photo.

“And Matthew House?” Beth asked. “He booked a night?”

“Day before yesterday,” Jane answered. “Right here.” She used a bookmark to turn to the entry, which was written in the same untidy handwriting as Dennis Chapel’s name.

“You husband said that he just wanted the cabin for the night?” Gina asked. “He’d been camping up until then.”

“Yes. It’s been down around freezing this week, so I guess he wanted something more comfortable than a tent.”

“And what about checkout? Weren’t you a little concerned when he didn’t get the keys back to you yesterday?”

Jane chuckled lightly. “We’re not a hotel. I just keep the keys in a locked mailbox on the back door. They drop ‘em off when they leave, I take them out when I have a chance to go check on the state of the cabin.”

“State of the cabin?” Gina raised an eyebrow. “So you go up there to change the sheets, clean up?”

“These are hunting cabins, ma’am. It’s bring your own everything. I’m not providing turn-down service. All I do is check that the place isn’t covered in animal guts.”

Beth smothered a laugh at the flash of disgust on Gina’s face. “But you don’t do that right after they leave?” she asked.

“Depends,” Jane said. “If the person isn’t a hunter, I don’t rush up there to check. I don’t see a note about these boys hunting. Anyway, with Jim out of town, I have to stay at the store.”

“What about last year?” Beth turned the makeshift ledger so she could flip through the pages. “There’s a bit of a gap after Dennis Chapel’s reservation. Do you remember anything about the cabin from then?”

Jane looked down at the ledger. “Only time we aren’t renting the cabins in season is if we’re out of town. I think that’s the week we went to Charlotte to visit Jim’s family. Let me check the store records.”

She turned and hurried to the back room before Beth and Gina could speak.

“What do you think?” Gina turned to Beth.

“I think she’s relaxing. She’s more than happy to talk about the cabins and the victims. I’m not seeing anything to worry about.”

They broke off as Jane pushed through the door, a daybook in her hands.

“Here it is. We were visiting Sarah from the morning after Jim rented that cabin until the following Saturday.” Jane turned the calendar to face them.

“And you don’t have anyone who helps out around here?” Gina asked.

“Well, my brother Scott helps out around the store,” Jane said. “Not full-time or anything, though.”

“But you close the store and the cabins while you’re away?”

Jane hesitated before replying. “It’s too much for him to take care of the whole shop himself. So we close down when we take a vacation.”

The store owner began to twine her fingers together again, Beth noticed. Talking about her brother made her nervous. Was it that he was untrustworthy or unreliable, and that’s why she wouldn’t leave him in charge of the store? Or was it a more complicated concern that set Jane on edge? Beth was trying to decide how to phrase the question when Jane closed both books and stored them under the counter.

“I’m sorry, but I really do have important phone calls to make. Suppliers, you know, I need to talk to them today.” She wouldn’t meet their eyes. “Are we about done here?”

“Yes,” Gina said slowly, glancing at Beth. “We’d like to talk to Scott, though, in case he had any contact with the victims. Do you know where we can find him right now?”

“I’m not really sure.” Jane’s fingers knotted together yet again. “I can give him your card next time I see him, if you want.”

Gina handed over her business card and thanked the woman for her time. When the two women joined the rest of the team, Gina glanced at Beth and raised her eyebrow.

“Nope, nothing,” Beth agreed. “I don’t think she has anything to do with it. She stopped being nervous really quickly.”

“Exactly what I got,” Gina said. “I don’t know what she was so worried about the first time we talked, but there’s nothing about her or how she talks about her husband that betrayed guilt. Very open. And genuinely shocked to think that their cabins might be involved somehow.”

“What was that at the end?” Prophet asked. “Her shoulders turned in, like she was feeling defensive.”

“We were asking about her younger brother,” Beth explained. “There is something there, but I couldn’t tell if it’s an older sister who’s ashamed of a less than successful brother, or if it might be something more. She said she’d have him contact us.”

“Right, so, now what?” Mick asked. “Track down the brother?”

“He has a connection to the cabins, he’s a potential suspect,” Coop allowed. “Let’s get back to the station and learn more about this brother.” Just as he turned towards the door, it opened. A heavily-built man with sandy blond hair hobbled into the store, a large sack over one shoulder.

“Scott!” The store owner hurried along the counter towards the young man. “Where were you this morning? I thought you were opening the store.”

Scott Andrews muttered something, his posture defensive. Beth gave the man an assessing once-over. He was limping badly, favouring his left leg. His upper body was twisted in a way that made her think of a hunchback. He wore bulky clothing and heavy boots, like a winter hiker might, but this was no hiker. When Scott reached the counter, he tossed down the sack like a pillow. Beth could make out the label from where they stood: sixty-five pounds of concrete mix. Jane said something in a low voice and her brother turned to look at the FBI agents.

Beth bit back a curse. In profile, Scott appeared handsome, with a strong jaw and thick blond hair. Face on, she could only see the silvery white scar that snaked from his hairline to his upper lip, twisting his eye socket and puckering his left cheek. It was a horrible disfigurement, and she could tell from his flat gaze that he was used to people's negative reactions.

Here was a young man who would have been handsome and active, but who clearly had been severely disfigured, who had lost his physical agility. Beth exchanged a glance with Coop, who nodded. The victim profile began to make sense. If Scott were their unsub, his victims represented everything that he used to be, everything that he had lost to whatever incident caused his injuries. He even bore more than a passing resemblance to the three men.

“He looks like a possibility. Might be why his sister was defensive,” Mick said, leaning down so she could catch his quiet words. “It should probably be you who goes over.”

“He won’t see you as a threat,” Coop’s voice came from behind them. “You’re the one he’ll be most likely to let down his guard for.”

Beth grimaced. Coop was right: if this was their unsub, she would be unlikely to spook him.

“Well, being short and plain had to have its pluses at some point. Guess today’s my lucky day.”

With that, she stalked over to where the suspect was speaking with his sister.

 

As Mick watched Beth engage the suspect in conversation, he noticed that her face changed, opening up and showing flashes of charm. She was obviously trying to put the suspect at ease. As she smiled and widened her eyes at something Scott said, Mick felt a twinge of defensiveness.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult when I said she should go over there,” he said, feeling the need to explain himself.

“Of course you didn’t,” Coop agreed. “It was an instinct, and a good one. A man would have made him feel competitive and Gina’s height and confidence would have made him feel inferior and defensive. Beth is physically smaller than him and her self-deprecating attitude is often misinterpreted as low self-esteem. She appears vulnerable to him, so he’ll fail to perceive her as a threat.”

Mick couldn’t help but stare at Coop for a moment, before turning back to keep watch on Beth.

“I don’t think I’d actually thought of all – hell, any – of that. I just felt that she could get him talking better than we could.” And he saw that he was right. Beth was chatting easily with the suspect and his sister.

It looked like a casual conversation, but Mick knew from Beth’s posture and the way she was fiddling with her watchband that something about the man had her on edge. He knew it was ridiculous and totally counter-productive to the investigation, but he wanted to go over and put himself between her and the suspect. A hand on his arm interrupted his thoughts, and he turned his head to meet Prophet’s eyes.

“He’s not a threat to women,” Prophet said quietly. “And Beth wouldn’t appreciate it,” he added, glancing down at Mick’s hands, which had curled into loose fists.

Mick forcibly relaxed his stance as the other agent turned towards the door.

“C’mon, man,” Prophet said, pushing Mick slightly to turn him as well. “Let’s get back to the office and start digging. We can leave the rest of the interviewing to Coop and the ladies.”

“Fine,” Mick pretended to grumble as he followed Prophet to the door. “But I drive. You’re worse than a old grandad behind the wheel.”

“At least I remember to drive on the right side of the road,” Prophet protested as he pushed the door open. Mick glanced back at Beth one last time. She caught his look and held his gaze for a brief moment, sending him a frown over the suspect’s shoulder. Typical Beth. The suspect would think that she was putting Mick down, while Mick was well aware that that particular frown was Beth’s version of a wink and a smile. Feeling mischievous, he winked in return and walked out of the store.

 

When Beth approached the counter, Jane moved closer to her brother. If the counter hadn’t been in her way, she probably would have stepped between Scott and Beth. Scott’s response to this defensive action was telling – he moved away from his sister and stood as straight as he could. Beth responded to his assertive stance by curving her shoulders as she approached, pitching her voice low and gentle.

“Scott, I’m Beth Griffiths. I’m here looking into the disappearance of three young men in the past two years. I was hoping you could help me.”

Scott eyed Beth up and down before answering. As he raised his eyes to meet hers, his posture changed. He leaned against the counter and turned his head away from her so that she couldn’t see his scars. His glance, as he looked at her from the corner of his eye, was almost flirtatious.

“Well, miss,” he said with a smile, “I’m happy to try.”

Beth schooled her face smooth, not wanting to show her reaction to his blatant manipulative behaviour. She was impressed, though, at how effective it was. She was having a hard time not responding to that bashful grin, even though she knew that Scott might be a sadistic killer. Before his accident, Scott would have been a master at controlling other people using his looks and charm.

“Well,” she began, mimicking his speech patterns. “I was wondering if you ever met any of these three boys.”

She passed over their photos of the victims. Scott studied each picture in turn, taking his time.

“I couldn’t say,” he finally said. “They all look a bit alike, and we get a lot of folk through here. I don’t pay much mind to CFAs.”

“To whats?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

“Come-from-aways. You know, out-of-towners. Amateurs who have more enthusiasm than skill. Idiots playing at hunters.”

His voice was dripping with disdain. It could have been a general dislike, but Beth was focused on how Scott’s fingers were crumpling the pictures he held. There was real anger going on here. Was it towards tourists, or towards these particular men? Something to explore in a later interview, she decided, where the environment was more contained. That much anger was safer in an interview room.

“If I can tell you when you might have seen them, would that help?” Beth decided to redirect the questions to neutral ground.

“If you give me a date, I can look it up on my computer,” he said, glancing at the ceiling. “I’ve had a lot of appointments since my accident, so I keep a real detailed schedule. Doctors get real picky about being on time and not missing a single physio session. It’s a lot to keep straight, so I set up a system.”

His bragging was subtle, but Beth knew he was trying to impress her with how he had kept everything together. Scott Andrews was masking something with that bravado, though. Beth could see it in his eyes and hear it in his answers.

“That’s great,” she smiled up at him. “It would be really helpful to me if you could take a look at your calendar and see if anything comes to mind.”

“Sure thing.”

“Let me write down those dates for you,” she said. She moved towards the counter and observed that Scott shifted his body to keep his scars hidden from her. He reached across the counter and grabbed a notepad and pen.

As Beth took them from him, she noticed Prophet and Mick leaving the store. Mick caught her gaze, clearly wondering about the interview. She did her best to signal that all was going well without spooking Scott. If Scott saw, he gave no sign.

“The most recent disappearance was two days ago,” she said, writing. “The others were a year ago and two years ago, right around this time of year.”

“I was helping out here two days ago, in the morning,” Scott glanced at Jane, who nodded. “I had appointments in Nancy in the afternoon. Physio and massage. And then I came back and closed the store for Jane.”

“That’s right,” Jane leaned in. “I wanted to go home to walk the dogs because Jim had to leave for Charlotte that afternoon. Sorry, agent, I forgot about that.”

“It’s alright. Not everyone is as on top of their schedule as Scott here.” Beth smiled up at the man. He straightened his shoulders and all but preened under the compliment.

Beth bit back a smirk. Sometimes she wondered if her profiler background had made her too cynical in her dealings with other people, but at times like these, she was grateful for it. It allowed her to see the contempt hidden by humour, the anger masked by orderliness, and the emptiness behind the charm. She wrapped up the conversation quickly, wanting to get back to the team.

* * *

**Day Two – 5:00 pm**

“Pass the coffee, please,” Gina asked quietly. Beth leaned to her left to snag the carafe.

“Feels almost empty. Could you pour me a cup if there’s enough?” she asked as she passed it over.

“I’ll just order more,” Gina replied, turning to signal their need to the waiter.

“Caffeine, please,” Prophet’s voice came from Gina’s right. Beth could see his cup bumping gently against the carafe in Gina’s hand.

“Me, too,” Mick glanced up from the papers he was studying.

“Not your turn. Beth and I have first dibs,” Gina said as she filled her cup, and then poured the last bit of coffee into Beth’s mug. “You wait for the new pot.”

“Fine, But if our brilliant deductions aren’t up to their usual standard because we’re not firing at top speed, don’t blame us,” Mick said with a false huff.

Prophet laughed and picked up Gina’s cup. He slurped down half the coffee before she grabbed it from his hands.

“Yuck,” he made a face. “Stuff’s cold. I’m waiting for that fresh pot.”

Beth looked down at her cup, then stuck a finger into the liquid. Barely warm. She unscrewed the lid from the carafe and poured the coffee back in.

“Wise move,” Mick commented. “Only thing worse than weak coffee is cold weak coffee.”

Beth nodded absently and reached for her water glass instead. “Anything in there to explain this guy?”

“A few useful bits. He was in the National Guard up until his accident, working at the hardware store and taking online courses,” Mick shuffled his papers into a neat stack. “Some notes about fighting in high school, but nothing bad enough to involve the police or disqualify him from service. Every indication of a stable home life.”

“When was the accident?” Prophet asked.

“Six years ago. About two months after his parents died,” Gina answered, flipping open the file she’d been reading while she ate. “He went on an evening hunt, lost the trail, and went over a twenty foot cliff. Dragged himself to the nearest hunting cabin. Lucky for him, it was in use. They strapped him to an ATV and got him to the hospital in time to save his legs.”

“Saved is a relative term, though,” Prophet interrupted, tapping the papers. “He’s been through multiple surgeries, years of physical therapy just to regain the limited mobility we saw today. He was in a wheelchair most of the time for the first two years, it looks like.”

“So what does that do to an active young man who just lost his parents?” Coop’s voice came from behind Beth. The large man moved silently around the table and slid into the chair beside Mick. “Mick?”

Beth watched Mick sit straighter under Coop’s questioning gaze. His eyes flicked down to the pile of files he’d been studying all through the meal, and then rose. When he met her eyes, she raised her eyebrows and frowned slightly. His lips quirked and he took a quick breath.

“Right, an active young man who lives in a small town and works for his parents. Someday he’ll take over his father’s store, so he’s the heir apparent. His major activities are hunting and his weekends with the National Guard – so he’s your typical ‘running, jumping, climbing trees’ kind of lad. With a lot of guns, mind.” He grinned, but then his face stilled. “These could be perfectly healthy outlets for his energy but then, in the turn of a season, he loses it all – his family, his inheritance – now that his big sister’s back, she’s queen – and his legs.”

“Which means?” Coop asked.

“It means that he’s used to taking out his aggression with active, even violent, pastimes. Now he can’t do any of that. He has months, years, of pain and immobility to build up anger, resentment…”

“And a personal mythology,” Prophet interrupted. “This guy’s medical file reads like a series of medical miracles – not only did he drag himself to help, they nearly amputated both legs, then there’s lots of notes about how he was never expected to walk again. But every doctor uses words like determined, committed, dedication.”

“So he threw all that energy into walking again. But once he could, he needed a new way to prove himself,” Gina suggested.

“By killing people?” Coop asked.

“It’s an outlet for his anger over being injured.” Mick said. “And a way to prove he has power. He hasn’t been able to control his body, even though he put every bit of himself into it. So he’s angry and looking for another way to prove himself.”

“That could explain why the victims were medium height men with fair colouring.. Around the same age Scott was when he had his accident,” Beth pointed out. “They were physically fit, active, social. The victims could have been chosen because they remind him of what he’s lost.”

“How does he do it, then?” Coop was pushing at the weak spots in their theory.

The team exchanged glances. Silence fell for a few moments, until Beth couldn’t stand it.

“We know he has access to the cabins, and he had access to the victims. He told me that he checks on the cabins every couple days, even runs out supplies on that special ATV of his.”

“Right, but how did he kill them?”

“C’mon, even the medical examiner couldn’t figure that out,” Mick protested. “It could be poison, it could be a gut shot for a slow miserable death, it could be any of a hundred invisible methods that we can’t find on bones.”

“True,” Coop acknowledged. “But how do we explain the broken bones? He might be able to walk, but he couldn’t fight a healthy man.”

“Could he have drugged them, restrained them before the beating? Hunters know their way around tranquilizers and trussing up animals.” Mick suggested. “Breaks that bad, left untreated, can be deadly from the resulting internal bleeding and infection.”

“All right,” Coop nodded. “I think he’s more than worth a look. I’ll have Sheriff James send a deputy to pick him up. Get your coffees to go and we’ll have a talk with Scott down at the station.”

* * *

**Day Two – 6:00 pm**

An hour later, the team was back at the hardware store. The local police hadn’t counted on Scott owning a police scanner, so when the word went out that they were looking to pick him up for questioning he had barricaded himself inside.

“Well, the good news is that we know Jane closed the store before all this, so he doesn’t have any hostages. On the other hand, do we have any idea what kind of weapons he’s got?” Prophet asked Sheriff James.

“This is hunting country. I know he owns a couple of rifles and a shotgun,” the Sheriff speculated. “I’ll go check on what else he has registered.”

The LEO ambled away far too slowly for Mick’s taste. They were trying to secure a location with too many exits. The apartment had a side entry, a fire escape, and a door into the store itself. The store also had three exits, and with the low sun bouncing off the windows, there was no way to tell if the unsub had moved from the apartment to the store or not.

James returned carrying two printed pages. Beth took them from him and glanced over the contents. Her eyes widened and she handed the papers to Mick.

“Well, he has six handguns,” he reported, “ranging in size from ‘easy to conceal personal defense’ to ‘ready to deploy to a warzone,’ as well as four rifles that you’d only use for hunting if your goal was the obliteration of the animal in question. Clearly, he’s not in it for the pelts or meat. Bless you Americans and your gun laws. Back home, he’d have a harder time building this collection, but we’d probably never know it existed.”

Beth broke in. “But with a ‘collection’ like this, there’s a good chance that he has illegal weapons, too.”

Sheriff James, who’d developed a habit of hanging on Beth’s every word, asked “How would he do that? We’re not exactly a big town and Scott doesn’t get out of Collinsburg much. I can’t think how he’d get his hands on any illegal weapons.”

Beth smiled up at the looming LEO, a wide, friendly smile that made Mick stare.

“That’s as may be.” Mick blinked. Beth never spoke yokel. She left that to Gina and Prophet, the charming chameleons of their little band. “But now we know at least some of the firepower he’s got, we’d better adjust the lines. Pull the barricades back…” she glanced questioningly at Mick.

“At least ten metres – that’s eleven yards, to you yanks,” he teased with a wink. “It won’t help with the rifles, but if all he’s got is the handguns, his accuracy might be compromised. That and staying behind the cars will do for now.”

Beth nodded her agreement. “We can talk infiltration points as soon as you get us that heat scope Mick asked for when we got here.”

Mick glared pointedly to reinforce her subtle prodding. The Sheriff tried to match his gaze, but quickly broke off and strode over to his men.

“Can’t think how he’d get illegal weapons?” Beth laughed as she shared a look with Gina. “How cute is that?” The two women smiled as they watched Sheriff James direct his men.

Cute? Mick’s eyebrows shot up.

“Cute, huh?” Prophet’s incredulous voice matched Mick’s train of thought. “You two going to take him home and have tea parties?”

Gina laughed and bumped him in the arm. It was a subtle, personal gesture, one that Mick realized they exchanged frequently.

“Nah,” Beth said with a smile. “I thought I’d sweep him off his feet and take him away from this one-horse-town.” Mick could feel his eyes widening. Beth actually wanted this guy? “And then I’d drop him in the middle of an L.A. barrio to see how long Mr. Aw Shucks, Wide-Eyed Innocent lasts.”

Mick joined in the others’ laughter, his chuckles tinged with relief. Much better to have prickly, blood-thirsty Beth than that weird girly creature she’d briefly turned into.

“Anyway, I suppose we should be glad he doesn’t have the apartment over the gun store,” Beth muttered, bouncing on her toes beside Mick.

“Yeah, cause I can’t think of any way to turn power tools, chemicals, and hardware into weapons,” he responded sarcastically. He wished that she would calm down; her nervous energy was contagious. He also wished that he could just pull out his rifle with its thermal scope. Coop had vetoed that idea, though. They needed the unsub alive if they were going to have a chance of finding the third victim, and 7.62mm Russian rounds caused enough damage even when Mick wasn’t shooting to kill. The hours of surgery and recovery involved were hours that their victim might not have.

“Well, not everyone took the ‘101 ways to kill using a paint stir stick and duct tape’ lessons like you. This guy’s a hunter who spent a couple dozen weekends drilling with the National Guard. He probably thinks that fertilizer is for fields and nails are for walls. Nothing in his history shows any hint of militia connections or training in explosives.”

Beth resumed her fidgety movements as soon as she finished speaking. Without thinking, Mick reached out and rested a hand on her upper back, rubbing small circles with his palm the way he used to soothe Jenna when she was wound up or upset. Beth stilled and stared up at him.

“What?” she demanded, her eyes darting from his arm to his face. Mick pulled his hand back quickly.

“Sorry,” he stuttered slightly. “The bouncing. You were fidgeting. It was like that clock all over again.”

She stared at him as though he’d sprouted horns, and then comprehension dawned.

“Getting on your nerves, was it?” She grinned at him. “You could just tell me to stop, y’know.”

Mick felt his cheeks flush slightly. He was hardly going to admit that his instinct was to calm her, so he matched her grin for grin.

“I could tell you to stop,” he mused, “but given how often you actually listen to other people, I felt a more direct approach was called for.”

Beth’s eyebrows went up into what Gina called her ‘fighting face’ but Mick was saved from whatever she cutting insult was planning by Coop’s call for the team to gather around the command table.

* * *

**Day Two – 7:00 pm**

Beth shifted from foot to foot. It was partly to keep warm and partly because she was feeling antsy. She shuffled through her files one more time. There was nothing new to be found, but at least the activity kept her conscious mind distracted. While her hands were busy, her subconscious was free to make connections. Not that any seemed to be falling into place right now.

“Agent Griffiths?” It was Sheriff James, doffing his hat and ducking his head. Seriously, she thought, the man was a walking cliché. Adorable, but also slightly creepy. “This is Doctor Fanster. He’s Scott’s primary physician at the hospital in Nancy. I thought you might want to talk to him face to face, so I had Jerry drive him over. And this is Sarah Dancy, his clinic nurse. She agreed to come speak with you as well.

“Doctor Fanster, this is for you,” Sherriff James continued, handing over a folder of paperwork. “I got Judge Reynolds to expedite a HIPPA-waiver court order so that you can legally talk to us about Scott. It covers his appointment schedule, treatment, surgical and medication history, and all information on referrals to other physicians or medical professionals. After that, Tim says you’re to use your discretion. Same applies to you, Nurse Dancy.”

Okay, Sheriff James was more than just a cliché, Beth had to admit. They had reached out to the local GP, but this doctor would have much more insight into the injury’s effects on Scott’s psyche. The Sheriff had been correct in assuming that being able to speak with the doctor in person was an advantage. The court order would allow the physician to discuss specific topics, but he would also reveal useful information through facial or physical responses. And bringing the nurse really raised the Sheriff in Beth’s esteem. She would have seen Scott as his most vulnerable times and could speak to his interactions with other patients.

“Doctor Fanster. Ms Dancy,” Beth shook hands with the pair. “Thank you so much for coming all this way tonight. As you can see, we’re working under pressure, so I apologize if we rush through things.”

Beth gestured over her shoulder at the barricade that was forming. Prophet and Mick were overseeing the placement of police vehicles in a carefully spaced perimeter around the hardware store. Gina was working the phones, coordinating the arrival of the extra officers from other counties who were coming to assist in the search. Coop stood with Jane Andrews, who seemed to be in a state of shocked numbness.

“Doctor Fanster, how long have you been treating Scott?” Beth decided to start with the easy questions, hoping that a few minutes in the tense environment would loosen the doctor’s tongue.

“I took over Scott’s case once he transitioned into out-patient care. That would be a little over four years ago.” The doctor glanced at his nurse, who nodded. Clearly, a team act, these two.

“And for the past two years, how often have you seen Scott?”

“Scott has had a monthly check in with us for the past year,” the nurse replied. “He also comes into the clinic every five or six days for physio and massage on his legs and back. That used to be more often, but his strength and flexibility have improved to the point where he could cut back.”

“His recovery has been remarkable,” Doctor Fanster said with a nod. “Scott is the most determined, dedicated patient I have ever worked with. He drives himself so hard, and it has produced incredible results.”

“This drive,” Beth asked, “how does it affect his relationship with other people? Is he easy to work with as a patient?”

The pair exchanged glances. After a moment, the doctor answered.

“He’s a model patient. He comes to his appointments on time, he does all his extra sessions, is religious about his medication and exercises.” When he finished speaking, he closed his lips tightly.

Beth waited expectantly. The doctor was holding back, but the nurse wasn’t as shy.

“He’s a nightmare in the waiting room.” Sarah Dancy bit her lip. “I mean, it’s great that he’s punctual, but he goes crazy if he has to wait because someone else is late. Or if the doctor is called over the hospital for an emergency and we have to reschedule. Anything upsets his appointment and I get a real earful.”

“So he resents other patients taking up his time?”

“Oh yes. He really doesn’t have much time for the other patients,” the nurse raised her eyebrows. “I know that his injuries are some of the worst we’ve dealt with, but he acts like he’s the only patient that matters. Like we exist just for him.”

“Does he resent healthy people?” Beth asked “It’s not uncommon in someone who has been severely injured the way Scott was. He might turn his anger about his injury onto others .”

Nurse Dancy laughed. “You wouldn’t think Scott was angry about his legs, to hear him joke about them. But I think you’re right. He sure freaks out when other people talk about his limp or his scar.”

“Sarah, that’s hardly to the point,” Doctor Fanster said mildly. “Anyone would resent it if someone made jokes about injuries that severe.”

“I’m not talking about jokes, George. His last appointment, he yelled at Mrs. Arthurs because she commented that the damp weather must be why he was limping worse than usual. She was just being sympathetic. Anyway, all the staff know that you only talk about his legs if he brings it up first.”

Beth wrapped up the interview quickly after that, asking the Sheriff to work with Sarah Dancy to confirm Scott’s appointment schedule. She made her way over to the command table, where Coop was conferring with Mick. Beth knew that Coop would need the information provided by the medical personnel. His intention was to try to draw their unsub out through talk, at least until the search teams located Matthew House.

Once Matthew was located – Coop was certain he would be located soon – Coop would try to provoke Scott into exiting the building for a take-down. And failing that…

“I’ll take the shot from the barricades, yeah?” Mick asked.

“I think so,” Coop said. “For now, no need for a long distance solution. Let’s keep this close and controlled. You’ll be primary, but I may need to pull you out to consult on the search, so pick a short-range position that anyone firearms proficiency can handle. “

Beth watched Mick’s shoulders tense up as Coop walked away. She could see him assessing the barricade for good positions. It didn’t look good, with the evening sun reflecting off the store windows. But she knew that wasn’t the only reason he was tense. Mick might be an experienced sniper, but he had joked bitterly about his role as their ‘official executioner’ in past.

“Ready for an exciting evening of staring at a blank wall of glass?” Beth asked, punching him in the arm.

Mick laughed lightly. “Playing guess the target? It’s an old favourite of mine.”

“Hey, once we get that heat scope hooked up to a monitor, we can tag team it. I’ll be your eyes,” she offered.

“So that makes me the hands?” he asked.

“Seems appropriate,” Beth smirked at him.

“Best hands in the business,” Mick teased with a charming grin. Beth rolled her eyes and walked away.

* * *

**Day Two – 9:45 pm**

Coop’s voice echoed against the surrounding buildings as he spoke through the megaphone. Mick stood beside his team leader, gun trained on the shop, while Beth monitored the thermal camera to track the unsub’s movements.

“Scott. Scott Andrews. My name is Sam Cooper. I’m here to talk. I want to hear what you have to say.”

There was no response – no movement, no sound. This attempt didn’t seem to be going any better than the first two. Coop lowered the megaphone and sighed. He glanced down at the monitor. “I don’t think we’re going to get far with this. I need to get back to the search planning.”

He raised the megaphone again. “Scott. You can talk to me at any time. If you pick up the phone, I’m here to listen.”

Coop wound up his entreaty and moved behind the cover of the police cruiser, dropping to a crouch beside the telephone unit they’d brought out. If the unsub chose to pick up the phone in the shop, it would connect to this handset thanks to some Garcia magic Mick didn’t understand.

“He’s moving.” Beth’s voice broke the silence. “To your left three feet and turning. Possibly retreating into the store.”

Mick adjusted his aim slightly to the left, taking a quick glance at the monitor to confirm his new target zone. Thanks to the scale that Beth had calculated and taped to the screen her directions were remarkably accurate, but Mick needed confirmation from his own eyes. The sun that had blinded him earlier had set behind the tree-line, but there was still enough glare on the windows from other light sources that Mick had to rely on the scope for any hint as to the unsub’s location. It was deeply frustrating to be so close to a target and unable to see it. He took a slow breath in and released it through his mouth, relaxing his stance and slowing his heartbeat.

“Easy there, sniper-boy,” Beth’s quiet voice sounded amused. “Gina’s on the phone getting the lights off as fast as possible.” Even as she said it the street lights went dark. “There. Now we can see…”

“Shadows.” Mick interrupted. “We can see shadows and he can see us clear as day.” He glanced at the monitor again; the unsub hadn’t moved in response to the light change. Odd.

“Feeling a little exposed out here on the front lines?” Beth asked. “Doesn’t suit your need for distance from any and all situations?”

“Don’t profile me, Beth,” Mick snapped, trying to ignore the accuracy of her observations. “Makes you sound bitchy.”

“I am bitchy,” she responded. “I can’t figure out why we haven’t found our victim. We threw every bit of information possible into the geo-profile and the kid’s nowhere in the area. I’d say the victim had done a runner, but the unsub was too calm this afternoon to have lost him in the woods.”

Prophet walked over to their position, checking his gun. “I’m here to take a shift,” he explained. “Rest your arms, get some water. This stance isn’t easy on the shoulders.”

He slid in next to Mick, braced his arms on the roof of the car, and used the frame to guard his neck. A dark helmet covered him down to his brow-ridge. Mick stepped across the monitor, allowing Prophet to take his exact position. Dropping to a crouch, he engaged the safety on his gun but kept it in a loose grip.

Beth and Prophet chatted back and forth briefly, establishing their spotter/shooter rapport. Mick half-listened as he let his head and arms hang limply, allowing his muscles to relax. The shooting stance was much less comfortable than his preferred positions and even if he’d never admit it to the team, his shoulders were going to get sore if he held it for more than a couple hours. He needed to go running to work off the tension and get the blood moving through his tight muscles. Of course, in these woods, running was a good way to get shot, mauled by an animal, or break a limb and die of exposure.

“Wait a second, Beth,” he said. “What if the victim did do a runner? What if that’s the point? We’ve been thinking that he tortures them in a cabin, but what if the torture is being lost and injured in the woods? All alone with no food or water or way to defend yourself.”

“And the unsub tracks them to see how they do? Could be…” Beth paused in thought, then waved Coop over. Mick explained his theory to the senior profiler, who nodded.

“Yes, but if I’m Scott… I don’t need to see them try to just survive, I need to see them survive what I survived. I need them to prove whether they can overcome what I’ve overcome, to prove themselves worthy like me.”

Beth shook her head, disgust evident on her face. “So he injures them, lames them the way he was lamed, and then watches them fail. Which proves to him that he’s a better survivor than they are.”

“Scott was injured in a fall from a cliff,” Prophet said. “What were those cliffs within range of the cabins? Were they between the cabins and the body sites?”

“Hart’s Bluff. Possibly. It depends on the line of the cliffs, I suppose.” Beth said. “I can check the maps.” She shifted on her chair as if to stand, but Mick stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“You stay. Prophet needs you to spot. I can grab the maps.”

“Fine.” She settled back down, but Mick thought he detected a hint of resentment. Beth didn’t like to share her profiling specialty any more than Mick fancied someone touching his sniper’s equipment. Which seemed a little extreme to Mick, since maps were just maps, but everyone had their obsessions.

Within minutes, he’d dug the right set of maps out of Beth’s files – she was going to smack his fingers for the mess he’d made doing so – and returned to the team. The topographic map showed two sections of Hart’s Bluff tall enough to stand in for the cliff that had caused the unsub’s lameness. Coop eliminated one on the basis that it was too close to cabins and water sources. The unsub might believe that he was setting up a competition, but given his degree of resentment and self-involvement it was unlikely he’d set an achievable task for victims.

Mick conferred with one of the local deputies on weather and animal life, as well as available food sources. It was agreed that the previous two victims could have made it to their grave sites from the cliffs. Working out an estimated rate of travel, Mick, Coop, and Sheriff James created a possible search area originating from the cliffs rather than the cabins.

Beth took a few minutes away from the scope to check over their conclusions and deemed them ‘acceptable.’ Mick couldn’t help scoffing a little at that word, but when she looked him in the eye, he saw the same ‘smile and wink’ frown she’d given him that afternoon. Amused, he quirked an eyebrow at her, which caused her to look away in an attempt to hide a grin.

Once the new search area was established, Mick returned to the shooter’s position. Prophet was a better choice to lead the search, and if they found Matthew House, there’d be no more need to be delicate about taking the unsub down. Lack of delicacy was Mick’s specialty. In his boredom, as the stand-off entered its fourth hour, he mentioned this fact to Beth. She laughed quietly, a low raspy chuckle that tickled up Mick’s spine.

“I’m glad you’re finally admitting your flaws,” she said archly. “Not every man has the self-awareness to realize he’d got the grace and social skills of a drunk teenager.”

Mick blinked a few times at that, realizing that Beth had completely misunderstood him. He quickly checked his stance and confirmed the target’s position.

“What I meant was…” He used the slow patient voice of someone talking to a small child. “…that in a take-down, people with delicacy tend to over-think and aim to incapacitate. People who lack delicacy know that they may have to kill, they accept that and they don’t risk useless shots. Me, I lack delicacy.”

He took a breath. “Social skills, on the other hand, are a matter of finesse and I have finesse in spades. I can finesse with the best of them,” he bragged, warming to the theme. “My finesse was legendary back in my unit.”

He paused to check the target’s position. Still hadn’t moved. If the shape on the monitor weren’t registering at body temperature, Mick would have thought the guy was dead.

“Oh, your finesse is legendary here, too.” Beth laughed. “That’s why most of the ladies in the gym won’t go for drinks with you. You’re a victim of your own reputation.”

“But then there’s you,” he asked. “Are you brave enough to have drinks with me?”

He could hear her shifting on the low camp chair. He counted off the seconds until she responded. _four one-thousand, five one-thousand, six one-thousand, seven one…_

“We have drinks together all the time, Mick,” she said eventually. “Team drinks. I know better than to mess with your style of finesse. I might like to keep things light and no-strings-attached, but your ability to avoid second dates truly is spectacular.”

Mick winced slightly at that one. This conversation had taken a wrong turn somewhere – he was fairly sure that they’d been talking about killing people and all of the sudden he’d found himself asking Beth for a drink. He had meant it as a joke, but as he’d waited for her answer he had realized that he wanted very much for her to say yes. Her glib dismissal stung, but he couldn’t let her know that.

“I have very high standards, I’ll have you know,” he bragged. “Second dates are reserved for women who meet a carefully considered set of qualifications.”

Beth snorted. “I dread to think what that means.”

Mick opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

“And please don’t feel the need to share. I’m quite happy not knowing.”

After that, a companionable silence fell between them. Mick tried to keep his mind focused on the target, but it kept drifting to the imaginary list of qualifications he’d mentioned. If he had to be honest, there was an unofficial list that ruled out most of the women he took out. Smart, brutally honest, compassionate, open-minded women whose interests aligned with his weren’t exactly around every corner. And the few he had met, like Emily Prentiss, intimidated him a little. The more Mick thought about it, it was a damned catch-22: the women he would like to have real relationships with were so formidable and amazing that he was too cowardly to ask them out.

Beth was a perfect example, he realized. She was brilliant and fascinating, she loved her work and was intensely passionate on any number of topics. Mick found her energy and humour engaging, while her carefully hidden vulnerabilities always caught him square in the heart. He looked down and was caught by the sight of Beth’s face in the monitor’s light, her dark eyes glinting and her cheeks lit in sharp relief by the blue glow. Her skin looked ice white, otherworldly. For everything he admired about her mind and heart, he had to admit that Beth was also a good looking woman. And he doubted she’d consider dating him if he was the last straight man on earth.

* * *

**Day Two – 11:45 pm**

Beth stifled a yawn and felt her jaw muscles strain. The coffee that the Sheriff’s deputy had brought with the latest search team updates was now lukewarm. She checked her watch to discover that it had only been twenty minutes since the deputy’s visit. The standoff was entering its sixth hour while the search had been underway for over ninety minutes.

Mick stood in the shooter’s position again. He’d been there for most of the evening and Beth could only imagine how exhausted he was. Sheriff James himself had taken a shift so that Mick could use the bathroom and sit down for twenty minutes. She had offered him coffee, but he’d turned down the caffeine in favour of fruit juice and beef jerky. He’d said something about adrenal reserves that had made sense intellectually but hadn’t really registered with Beth as she drank her tenth coffee of the day.

There had been a small moment of excitement at around half past eight when the unsub shifted positions, first kneeling and then climbing into a platform that Beth had identified on the ground plans as the cashier’s counter. From the angle of the unsub’s body, Mick had deduced that the man was probably sighting down a rifle. When Beth had questioned his use of the word probably, Mick had admitted that given the lack of detail on the heat scope, it was also possible that the unsub had climbed on to the counter for a nap.

Beth had hidden her amusement at Mick’s obvious frustration with the situation. She understood that while it was quite possible the unsub was napping and presenting no threat, Mick had to assume there was a rifle pointed at the barricades for the sake of caution. When the time came to enter the shop and take the unsub, Mick would have to make the call as to whether to take the kill shot on a man who might be sound asleep.

“Do you think he’d the type to go out in blaze of glory?” Mick asked suddenly.

“Suicide by cop? I doubt it,” Beth assured him. “He’s so proud of his ability to survive, he doesn’t want to die. Of course, he could have an invincibility conceit,” she suggested. “Having convinced himself that he can survive more than the average person.”

“If I’ve survived so far, survived more than what my victims could take, I’ll survive a shoot-out?”

“Sure. He’s not likely to surrender – too much ego for that. Giving himself up would go against what he’s been trying to prove with these tests: that he’s a superior sort of man.”

She couldn’t keep the sneer off her face as she described the unsub’s philosophy. As much as she tried to reach Coop’s level of objectivity about unsubs’ psyches, Beth had never been very good at masking her feelings when dealing with the various levels of twisted and crazy they faced. Some days she admired how Mick’s background allowed him to remain emotionally distanced from their cases. The reality was that Beth drew energy from her emotional connection to cases, even if it was from her disgust for a particularly despicable unsub.

This unsub, he was a nasty case. While his injuries made him a figure of pity, his actions horrified Beth. To send young men to their deaths as experiments – it was an anger-driven sadism that chilled Beth to the core. She found herself shivering at the thought and rubbed her hands up and down her arms in a futile attempt to ward off the chill.

Mick glanced down at her and then returned his gaze to the shop windows. Beth cursed herself silently for disrupting his concentration. Her job was to assist him, not distract him. She’d suppressed dozens of conjectures and questions over the course of the stakeout, not because she didn’t want to talk to Mick but because she didn’t want to take his attention away from where it belonged. And now she’d done it without even speaking. She shook her head in irritation as she watched him lower his left arm and make some sort of signally gesture.

Before she could ask if he’d been trying to communicate with her, a deputy hurried over.

“Something happening, sir?” The kid asked the question Beth was thinking.

“Just the temperature dropping like a stone,” Mick replied as he reset his stance. “Could we get a couple of blankets or warmer jackets over here?”

“Sure thing, sir. The thermostat does go down pretty fast when the sun sets,” the deputy observed, not moving.

“So I’ve noticed,” Mick replied tightly. Given the level of tension in his voice, Beth was amazed that his back and neck looked so relaxed. “Which is why some blankets would be nice.”

“Oh, right. Right away.” The deputy bustled off.

Beth smiled at Mick’s sigh of frustration. To distract him from his irritation, she asked “You cold?”

“Not really. I’ve got a jumper under this jacket. But you’re just wearing an oxford, so you’ve got to be chilled,” he pointed out. “And you’ve got too much of a stubborn martyr complex to ask for a blanket or find a warmer jacket.”

Beth felt a mixture of irritation and affection: Mick had made arrangements to take care of her in one breath and insulted her in the next. Not that he wasn’t right about the stubborn part, of course. And she had to admit that she hated having other people fuss over her, something she’d felt even more strongly since the incident with Rawlins. All the same, there was something about how Mick took care of her without fussing or expecting gratitude that was comfortable and warmed her more than blankets would.

* * *

**Day Three – 12:30 am**

Six and half hours into the standoff, Mick was starting to doubt that the unsub was awake. There had been no movement since the man had climbed onto the counter and no response to their attempts to establish communications. The search teams had covered more than half of the target areas, working out from the cliffs in a fan pattern. Fifteen minutes ago Prophet had reported that they might have found a trail, but that the thick underbrush was making the search slow going.

Mick was getting antsy. He had heard Coop talking to Sheriff James, planning the incursion should the victim be located. From what they had been saying, Mick got the feeling that taking the unsub alive wasn’t a priority. While that made tactics easier, he assumed that it would probably fall to him to take the final solution if the situation unfolded poorly.

“Let me take a turn.” Beth’s voice was close to his ear. “You’ve got to be aching.”

She was standing just behind him, to his right. Her eyes were still focused down on the monitor, but she was readying her side-arm. Mick rechecked his aim, and suddenly the tension in his arms and shoulders felt ten times worse. It couldn’t hurt to take a quick break, although…

“Can you even see over the car?” he asked.

“Oh, ha, ha,” Beth responded grouchily. “I’m not a midget.”

She stepped up beside him and rested her arms on top of the cruiser. The angle looked awkward to Mick, but now that she’d planted the idea of discomfort in his mind, he was not going to turn down a short respite.

He crouched down, shook out his arms and stretched his neck. Popping the snap on his helmet’s chinstrap, he freed his head. Cold night air hit his sweaty scalp and made him shiver. After a moment of blissful relaxation, he moved onto Beth’s camp stool and checked the monitor.

“No change,” he reported.

“Surprise.” Beth responded with a snort. Mick grinned and glanced up at her to check her positioning. It all looked good – her stance, her aim – but something about the sight bothered him. Mick tried to sort out what was wrong, sweeping his gaze from Beth’s feet to her head. Everything appeared fine. The only deviation from normal was that her hair was loose on her shoulders rather than tied up in the way she usually wore it for stand offs. Still, that wouldn’t be a problem until it was time to move in on the unsub’s position. Mick stared at the thick, dark hair resting against Beth’s neck for a few more seconds before he realized what the problem was.

“You’re not wearing a helmet!” He almost grabbed her to pull her down out of the range of fire.

“Christ, Beth, what are you thinking?” Even as he chastised her, Mick was picking up his own helmet and moving to crouch behind her. “Your head is the only target he has and you leave it unprotected?”

Mick’s heart was going ridiculously fast. It wasn’t like Beth didn’t go into life-threatening situations all the time – hell, they’d almost lost her to an unsub just a few months ago – but usually the team was there, everyone watching each other’s backs. But this time it was just Beth up there, and if the unsub had understood the difference in the silhouette, she could have been dead before Mick could have done anything.

“I’m going to put my helmet on you,” he told Beth. “I’ll tip it down until you say okay – that means your forehead is covered but you can still see.”

“Got it.” Beth’s voice was tight. Either she was tense about the risk in her situation, or she didn’t like Mick’s plan. At least she wasn’t arguing.

Mick raised the helmet and began to shift it over Beth’s head. He was trying to stay low, to avoid attracting the unsub’s attention with unusual movements. His face was pressed against Beth’s shoulder blades as he tried to gauge the helmet’s position. The tension in her back was at odds with the lightness in her voice as she griped at him.

“Do I really have to wear your sweaty helmet? I think a head wound might be preferable.” Mick wanted to shake her for saying something so ridiculous, but he knew she was just trying to deflect the stressful situation with humour. “Well if I have to, I suppose… stop… back a touch… that’s good.”

“Good,” Mick said, standing a little straighter. “I’ll just fasten the strap and you’re set.”

He slipped his hands over her shoulders and reached for the strap. As he brushed her hair back from her face and over her shoulders, he felt her shiver.

“Ticklish,” he teased.

“Apparently,” she muttered. She raised her chin slightly as he eased the strap into place, adjusting the clasp to fit her. Her skin was smooth where his fingers slid along her cheeks and jaw to seat the strap, and he felt another small shudder go through her at the motion.

All of a sudden, he became extremely aware of how close he was to Beth. As he crouched behind her, his legs bracketed hers and his head was tucked into the space between her shoulder blades. Her hair, hanging loose, was long enough that the ends tickled against his face.

“I think I’m good, Rawson,” Beth said. “You can let go now.”

Mick realized that his wrists were still resting on her shoulders, his fingers lying against her jaw. Slowly, he shifted his hands back and down. On one level he knew he moving slowly meant the unsub wouldn’t notice anything, but a guilty part of him was aware he was doing it to prolong contact. Mick found himself holding his breath. Beth’s skin was warm under his fingers and she tensed as they dragged down her neck and over her shoulders. Mick pulled his hands away from her and leaned back. He dropped into a low crouch and moved to the right. Glancing up at Beth, he noticed that her shoulders were high.

“Anything change?” she asked.

Mick blinked and turned his attention to the monitor. “No. No movement. Nothing new.”

Just as he said it, there was a burst of noise and activity from behind them.

“Nothing new for us, at least,” Beth said. “Want to find out what’s going on there?”

“What about the monitor?” Mick asked.

“Like you said, no movement.” Beth sighed. “Okay, I know you shouldn’t leave, but at least call Coop. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Control freak,” Mick teased.

“You know it,” her voice was light. “Now find out what the hell’s got them all excited.”

Mick grumbled good-naturedly as he pulled out his phone. A few taps of the screen and he was connected to Coop.

“I’ve got you on speaker so Beth can hear,” he said. “Anything we should know about.”

“Yep,” Coop’s deep voice sounded tinny in the night air. “Search team found a trail. They’re all converging on the area and it’s looking good. Apparently the blood and the broken branches are fresh enough that they figure the victim was there less than eight hours ago.”

“Was it near Hart’s Bluff?” Beth asked.

“Yes, and based on the distance from the cliffs and the amount of broken undergrowth and blood, we’re assuming he’s quite badly injured. He can’t be far from where they found the trail. They should find him soon.”

* * *

**Day Three – 1:15 am**

A slideshow of photos of Matthew House was cycling on the monitor. Prophet had documented as many of Matthew’s injuries as he could while the search team medics worked. Beth had to swallow hard so the fruit juice and power bar she’d eaten stayed in her stomach.

The injuries were gruesome: both legs and one arm broken, smashed ribs, a swelling head wound, not to mention scrapes and bruises on most of his exposed skin. It was amazing that the boy was alive.

A search team had located Matthew just before one a.m. and moved him to a clearing that could accommodate a medivac helicopter. The search’s medical team met them there, and Prophet had joined them so he could report on Matthew’s condition. He’d taken the photographs before reporting back to Coop.

“Kid’s tough, guys,” Prophet sounded impressed. “On top of everything you’ve seen, he’s got a branch through his thigh. Only reason he’s alive is that he had the smarts to break it off and leave it in there. He’s lost a lot of blood, but if he’d taken that out, medics say he would have been dead in minutes.”

“And sign of what caused the injuries?” Coop asked.

“I think I can explain that,” Gina’s voice echoed as she chimed into the conference call. “We’ve retraced his trail back to the cliffs and I’m seeing a pile of rocks with a lot of blood. They’re disturbed, like he crawled over them. You’ll have to give me a bit to figure out how to get to the top of this cliff, but I’ll send you some pictures for now.”

“Thanks, Gina,” Coop said. “Prophet, you see any sign of restraints? Drug injection? Anything about his ritual that I can use?”

There was muffled conversation and then Prophet responded. “The medics checked the arms and neck – no needle marks they can see, but there’s a lot of skin damage. The wrists are bruised and lightly chafed all the way around, like he was restrained but didn’t fight much. There’s also a smooth cut on inside of one wrist which could be from a knife cutting wrist restraints.”

“So Scott could have drugged him,” Beth said. “And he definitely controlled him with restraints. Which starts to explain how a crippled man kidnapped a healthy one.”

“I’m going to che…” Prophet trailed off and strange noises could be heard through the speaker phone. “Guys, he’s waking up. Hang on.”

There was a long wait. Beth could hear snatches of Prophet’s conversation and other male voices responding. It was impossible to tell if the voices were medics, officers, or their victim. Beth tapped her fingers against her side, impatient. Her irritation was broken by the familiar bleep of an incoming message.

She pulled out her phone; it was Gina’s photos. They showed a rock fall at the base of a cliff, jagged stones surrounded by scrubby trees. To one side, the stones were smeared with blood and there were broken branches. Scraps of torn fabric dangled from a tree. Another pile of blood soaked flannel looked like a makeshift bandage pad. Matthew had apparently been coherent enough for rudimentary first aid.

“He’s awake,” Prophet spoke into the phone. In the background, Beth could hear the unmistakable sound of helicopter rotors. “We’re going to get him into the chopper and then I’ll patch into the radio so you can hear the interview.”

“That’s great news,” Coop’s voice was bright. “First-hand victim information will make it easier to provoke a response from Scott. I can use anything you can get me.”

“Coop, I’m at the top of the cliff.” Gina said. “I can see where he would have gone over.”

“Any sign of a struggle?” Beth asked.

“Not much. There’s a disturbance right at the edge of the cliff, where he fell.” A pause, and the sound of rustling leaves. “Some badly concealed drag marks, heels mostly, although it’s a wide trail so I bet he dragged him on his butt for while. And it leads to… ATV tracks. The front wheelbase is just over six feet. I think you’ll find that that matches Scott’s Kymco. I’ll send photos of the tire treads to Garcia for comparison.”

“Thanks, Gina,” Beth smiled. Now they knew how the victims had ended up at the cliffs.

“I’m hanging up now,” Coop announced to everyone on the line. “We’re patching over to the chopper’s radio.”

Gina and Prophet signed off, and then there was a series of clicks and crackles.

“Coop, Beth, you there?” the connection was full of light static, but Prophet’s voice came through over the sound of a helicopter in flight.

“Gotcha loud and clear-ish.” Beth’s sarcasm made Coop grin.

“Matthew wants to help us out,” Prophet said. “But we can’t talk long.”

“Understood,” Coop answered. “Matthew, we just need to know the essentials.”

A faint voice croaked “Okay.” Beth winced. Matthew sounded like he’d worn his throat raw. Probably by screaming, given his injuries.

Prophet spoke again. “Don’t worry about details, remember?” There was a pause. “Do you remember who did this to you?”

“…yesss.”

“Where did you meet the person who did this to you?”

“Hardware…”

“Was it the man who rented the cabin to you?”

A pause.

“He’s shaking his head.” Prophet reported. “Another man?... He’s nodding. So you went back later?... Nodding yes. Why did you go back?

“Directions.”

“And the man who did this gave you directions?... No?”

“A ride.”

“He gave you a ride to the cabin?”

“Yess…”

“In an ATV? … He’s nodding. So where did you leave your car?”

“Barn?”

Matthew sounded uncertain. Beth made a note to see what sort of outbuildings Scott Andrews had access to.

“Did he leave you at the cabin?... He’s shaking… what’s that?”

“Be…beers.”

“You guys had a beer together?”

“Beersss.”

“More than one. And then he left?”

“Doh… don’t know.”

“Did you black out?... He’s nodding. And where did you wake up?”

“Cliff.”

“At the top of the cliff?... Shaking his…”

“Bott.. um”

“At the bottom. God, man, I’m so sorry.” Prophet’s voice was full of sympathy. “And you know that the guy with the ATV did this?”

“Test… checks…checked… on me..”

“He said this was a test?”

“Yes… Test. Pass or duh…duh…”

“That’s enough.” A new voice cut in. “You’re wearing him out. You can ask the rest of your questions at the hospital, once he’s stable.”

“Okay, fine,” Prophet answered. Beth could almost see him using his favourite appeasing hand’s-off gesture. “I just have one more? Please, it’s important.”

The medic sighed heavily enough that Beth heard it through the static. “Fine, one more.”

“Matthew, just one more question,” Prophet’s voice was soothing. “Is this the man who did this to you?”

“Yesss!”

* * *

**Day Three – 2:00 am**

“Alright, Mick, if you have the solution, take it.”

Mick nodded. He stepped away from the table and checked his equipment. In his peripheral vision, he could see the rest of the team doing the same. Coop holstered his gun and scooped up the megaphone. It was time for a last verbal approach.

“Ready?” Beth asked, snapping on her helmet.

“Always,” Mick said with a faint smile.

“Maybe you won’t have to.” He could hear the lie in Beth’s voice.

“Naw, Beth. The time for delicacy has passed,” he explained, turning towards the barricade of cars. “I know my job.”

“You do know your job, Mick,” she said, following. “You’re an excellent profiler, not a killer.”

He winced, but kept walking. “Today I’m both.” He lengthened his stride.

He could feel Beth struggling to keep up. It made him feel a little guilty, out-pacing her, but it stopped her from talking. When he reached the barricade, he crouched down behind the body of the car as Coop and Beth arrived.

“I’m going to try to talk him out,” Coop said, “but we all know that probably won’t do much good. The state police are setting up positions so that they can grab him if he goes out the back or side. The locals will be at the front.”

“And if he doesn’t move?” Beth asked.

“He’ll move,” Coop assured her. “He’s going to give in to his ego and his anger at some point. We just have to give him the right push.”

“And if he has weapons in there?” She just wouldn’t let go. Mick let his head drop, willing relaxation through his muscles.

“If he tries for lethal force, we will respond with lethal force,” Coop answered. “All the teams know that if he fires from inside the store, it’s Mick’s shot. If he gets outside, then they can take it on their own.”

Mick nodded. It made sense. He checked the monitor to establish a position for the unsub. Standing, he chambered a round and eased into position. Beth slid into place beside him, her back to the shop, her eyes on the monitor. She held her gun in the Weaver grip.

“You planning to shoot over your shoulder?” he mocked, trying to break the tension between them.

Beth huffed a laugh. “No. But if I see him come to the door, I’ll be ready for him.”

Mick smiled. Just like Beth, planning for as many outcomes as possible. He settled against the car as Coop began to speak through the megaphone.

“Scott. Scott Andrews. This is Sam Cooper. I told you earlier that I am here to listen. I am here to listen. You can pick up the phone on the counter at any time and we can talk. But until you do, I have a few things I want to tell you.”

Coop paused and took a deep breath.

“I want to tell you about Matthew House. Matthew is twenty-three years old. He’s an architect’s draughtsman. He graduated top of his class and is supposed to start a new job soon. He has parents who love him – James and Trish. They are so close to their son that they reported him missing after less than a day.”

As Coop continued, Mick quietly asked Beth “anything?”

“Nope. No movement,” she answered. “But Coop’s pushing his buttons – parents, success. It’ll happen soon.”

Mick nodded his agreement and returned his attention to Coop.

“Matthew is at the hospital right now, Scott. The doctors say he will survive.” Coop paused, a grimace on his face. “Matthew fought hard and he succeeded. The doctors say he will heal, that he will walk again.”

Coop was trying to goad the unsub into moving out of the building. The reality was that they couldn’t safely infiltrate the hardware store – there were almost as many flammable and explosive chemicals as in a meth lab. And Scott Andrews appeared confident in his ability to survive whatever life threw at him, perhaps to the point of delusion. It was safe to assume that he wouldn’t hesitate before shooting at anyone who entered the shop.

“Scott, Matthew told us what you did you him.” Mick could hear the anger in Coop’s voice. “How you took him out to the cabin, how you shared a couple beers. You drugged his beer. He woke up at the bottom of a cliff.

“You had pushed him over the cliff onto a rock fall, Scott. Not onto brush, like where you fell. Onto jagged rocks. But he fought. He dragged himself free, and when he could, he started to crawl.”

Beside Mick, Beth shuddered. He gently bumped his hip against hers in reassurance.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Not yet.” Her voice was subdued.

“And he fought, Scott. He crawled, he ate moss, he ate berries, he fought. He lasted for more than thirty-six hours and he was still fighting when we found him. Thirty-six hours. It took you twenty-one hours to find help, didn’t it?

“Matthew was alone in unfamiliar woods. You were in forest you know like the back of your hand. And he lasted fifteen hours longer than you did. Do you know what that makes me think? It makes me think he passed your test. But you couldn’t let someone pass your test, so you changed the rules. You cheated. You left him there to die.”

Beth hissed. “Movement. Movement. He’s off the counter. Your right, five feet.”

“And that tells me that you don’t do this as some kind of test. You didn’t do this to prove a point.”

“He’s still moving, your right, two feet.” Beth announced. “Keep going with that line. It’s really getting him.”

“You did this because you suffered horribly and now something inside you enjoys the suffering of others. You did this because your body isn’t the only thing that’s broken.”

A howl rose from the store. It made the hair on the back of Mick’s neck stand up. Before he could ask Beth for a position, he heard the crack of rifle shot and shattering glass. As the shop window fell, Mick was able to make out the shadowy figure of a man with a gun. Without thinking, he adjusted him aim and returned fire. He emptied six of his fifteen rounds in a controlled grid and saw the figure fall to the ground.

There was no return fire. Silence dragged on for long seconds, until Coop ordered the Sheriff to take his men into the store. They managed a reasonably tidy entry and called the all-clear. Mick sagged down behind the car and turned to check on Beth.

“Alright, there, Griffiths?”

“Alright, Rawson. Good shooting.” Beth’s voice sounded tired.

“Thanks,” Mick dropped the magazine out of his gun, and popped out the chambered round. “I’m going to hand off all this and then go crawl into bed.”

“Right there with you,” Beth sighed and stood. His eyebrows shot up, but she wasn’t even looking at him when she added. “Not like that, you idiot. You know what I meant. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Mick laughed long and hard as he followed her away from the barricades.

* * *

**Day Three – 9:15 am**

Beth handed Mick a cup of coffee from the plane’s kitchenette and sank into her seat. He nodded his thanks but his attention was focused on Coop. The team leader was standing in the aisle, reading from Sheriff James’s report on the contents of Scott Andrews’s apartment. After the post-takedown debriefing, James’s deputies had cleared the scene in the store and searched the apartment. The Red Cell team had returned to the motel to rest before their flight home. Beth hadn’t got much sleep, though, thanks to images of the victims interrupting her dreams. She sipped her coffee and focused her mind on what Coop was saying.

“… none of which was unusual. The interesting find was in the gun safe: over a dozen notebooks, the first one is more than three years old. It’s full of research: cases of men who survived falls, potential locations, drugs.”

“And does he give any indication of his motivation?” Gina asked.

“Nothing definitive yet. James has his people scanning and transcribing. I’ve got the first six notebooks here.” Coop handed his tablet to Gina. “If you look in numbers four and five, you’ll see that Scott recorded his ‘test’ of Travis Martin in detail.”

Gina nodded absently, her attention already on the screen. Coop smiled and looked at the others. “They’ll have the rest of the notebooks ready for us when we get back. I think we’ll have a lot to do while we wait for the next case.”

Beth felt Mick lean against her shoulder. “The unsub that just keeps giving,” he muttered sarcastically. She could feel his breath against her ear. It reminded her of how his fingers had felt dragging along her neck the night before and she had to suppress a shiver.

“I’ve had a message from the deputy at the hospital,” Prophet said, holding up his phone. “Matthew made it through surgery and is off the critical list. Turns out you weren’t lying to Scott: the doctors didn’t have to remove Matthew’s legs. He will have a long, hard fight but he should walk again.”

“A hard fight, like Scott Andrews,” Beth said.

“Yes, like Scott,” Coop agreed. “But at the same time, not. Matthew has a better support system, a different background and psychology. Everyone reacts to adversity differently.” A beep interrupted him and he pulled out his phone.

Beth turned away, looking down at her coffee. It was cooling rapidly in the air-conditioned cabin. She gulped down the last of the liquid and turned to Mick. He was staring at his hands, lost in his thoughts. He’d been quiet all morning, at breakfast, on the ride to the airport.

“Refill?” she asked. Mick glanced up and she could see shadows under his eyes. His hair was damp on his forehead and she could still smell chlorine from the motel pool. She had come across him there before breakfast. They had swum in silence, passing each other in the lanes.

“Please,” Mick answered, passing over his cup. “Cream and…”

“Three sugars,” Beth finished. “I know. Some day all those calories are going to catch up to you.”

Mick flashed her a quick grin. “Will you still love me when I’m old and podgy, Beth?”

“What makes you think I love you now?” she tossed over her shoulder as she made her way to the coffee pot. Mick’s laugh made her smile. Whatever was on his mind couldn’t be bothering him too much if he was flirting.

When she returned with the coffee, he was flipping through a file on his tablet. Beth placed their cups on the table and leaned over to read the screen. It was the background information on Scott Andrews. She sighed lightly – apparently Mick wasn’t done brooding. At the sound, he looked up. She raised an eyebrow. He narrowed his eyes. She raised her other eyebrow. He stared for another moment and then rolled his eyes in surrender.

“I sometimes wonder, y’know,” he explained. “The killers we see...”

Beth nodded. They had danced around this question before. “Where the difference comes from?”

“Well, yeah. I know that it’s all kinds of factors, I know that. But still. Some days… the difference between killing a person and being a killer. It’s not easy.”

Beth reached out and pulled the tablet from Mick’s hands. She closed the file and pulled up the photo gallery. Scrolling through, she found a picture Matthew House from the night before.

“This is the difference,” she said, turning the screen towards Mick. “This is what a killer does, because they have lost their humanity. You haven’t. When you shoot someone it’s to end or prevent something like _this_.” She shook the tablet slightly.

Mick stared down at the image for a long moment and then took the tablet from her. He exited the photo app, returning to the home screen. As he closed the cover, Beth caught a glimpse of his wallpaper. It was photo of the team: the five of them crowded on the office stairs, laughing together.

“Only you, Beth, would use a gruesome picture of a bleeding victim to comfort someone,” Mick grinned at her.

“Part of my charm,” she smiled over at him. “It’s why you lo…” a yawn crept up on her, making her eyes water.

“Sleepy there?” he asked, shifting so he could raise the armrest between their seats. “C’mon, we’re at least twenty minutes out. Pull your feet up and have a nap.” He patted his shoulder.

Beth couldn’t stop herself from glancing around; Mick’s idea was pushing the boundaries of workplace casual. Then she saw that Coop had nodded off with his feet in the opposite seat, and Gina was curled up against Prophet, who was stroking her hair as she slept. When it came to casual, as in everything, their Red Cell played by its own rules.

Beth pulled her legs up onto the seat, pleased with her lack of height for once. Mick raised his left arm so she could lean on him. With her head resting against his shoulder, Beth could feel Mick’s breathing and hear his steady heartbeat. She glanced up as his arm settled around her shoulders. He was staring out the window at the sunlit clouds.

As she relaxed against Mick, Beth smiled to herself. The last thirty six hours had been crazy but satisfying. They’d stopped the killer and rescued the victim alive. She thought Matthew House’s parents reaction when they’d heard their son was alive. Sure, this case had been hard work, but every minute had been worth it.

  



End file.
